Avengers: The (Alien) Sun's Going Down
by Black' Victor Cachat
Summary: Natasha had a feeling Bruce would run, and she had been very serious when she said she'd run with him. Unfortunately, she hadn't planned on running across the universe to a literal (and figurative) dump. Oh well, they could make this work. Various pairings. AU for AoU, CA:CW, S:H, T:R, BP, A:IW, & AMaW.
1. Beginnings

For better or worse, I do not own any Marvel franchise

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Many thanks to my wonderful Betas, Bobbie23 and MasterQwertster, who write some pretty cool stories. Go read them!

The fantastic cover image is courtesy of rickyryan. Just perfect!

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Avengers: The (Alien) Sun's Going Down

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Chapter 1: Beginnings

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~~Once upon a time, in a faraway land, there lived a beautiful maiden. Her hair was fiery red, with emeralds for eyes that could see right into a man's soul.

~~Then one day she came across a monster that was terrorizing people. While all the other villagers ran away in fear, she approached the monster and helped him, because she could see he was misunderstood. And the monster came to love her, and she loved him, breaking the curse that was on the monster. He became a handsome prince once more, and he took the beautiful maiden back to his castle where they ruled together, and everyone lived Happily Ever After~~

… _This_ is not that type of story.

At all.

 **-Alien Sun-**

Novi Grad,

Sokovia,

Earth

Climax of the War with Ultron

In the skies above Eastern Europe, a battle was being waged to determine who would see the next dawn: machine, or mankind.

On one side, Ultron, the mad, failed attempt to create an artificial intelligence intended to protect humanity. Now he had transitioned from claiming he 'only' wanted to cause a cataclysm to force their evolution, to finally admitting he just wanted to wipe them out. Particularly the Avengers, whom he hated above all else.

Scoffing at the very idea they were heroes, disparaging them as both monsters and the greatest threat to peace on Earth, Ultron had taken sadistic pleasure in luring them to the cornerstone of his grand design: a series of massive engines that were currently lifting a large piece of Sokovia's capital city of Novi Grad skyward, which was to soon reverse to accelerate back down the entire multi-ton mass of rock and homes.

Even by this point, the impact of its fall would murder billions, and both it and the projected death toll were rapidly rising. For Ultron's insane yet mathematical mind demanded nothing less than total annihilation.

Under the weight of this artificial meteor, man would go the way of the dinosaurs.

Fortunately, despite how grave the situation remained, the tide had turned in the Avenger's favour. For those who the robot had been intended to replace refused to give up and let innocents die; Ultron was on the retreat.

In large part thanks to Vision, an android possessing a synthetic vibranium body created by Ultron with the power to best any of the Avengers, until Tony Stark and Dr. Bruce Banner had repurposed him. Now a being who was part-Ultron, part-JARVIS (Tony's personal AI), and part of something else, Vision had of his free-will turned upon his creator, and burnt Ultron's electronic personality out of the internet. Leaving him with his remaining drones, still fighting throughout the city, as the only remaining copies of both his programming and personality; hence his desperation to get them to safety even while Earth's Mightiest hunted them down. If even a single one escaped, Ultron, and the threat he posed, would survive.

So even as Iron Man, a.k.a. Tony Stark, frantically worked to devise a (relatively) safe means to destroy the doomsday weapon, the rest of the Avengers were either evacuating civilians, or destroying the remaining Ultron drones. Thus saving the world from global genocide.

Keeping pace with the rising city was S.H.I.E.L.D's massive Helicarrier, under the command of ex(?)-Director of S.H.I.E.L.D, Nick Fury himself. The flying command ship was shepherding out the townspeople with smaller Lifeboats, so that the Avengers could safely demolish the city without killing anyone. For security, the sky itself acted as a moat as it hovered dozens of meters away.

A trivial obstacle for the strongest Avenger to conquer.

Leaping towards it was a muscular, green titan: the Hulk.

While reviled as a monster by most people, his fellow Avengers knew him as a stalwart teammate, the mighty alter-ego of their friend Dr. Bruce Banner. Unfortunately, when Wanda Maximoff had still been an enemy, she had used her mental powers to make the Hulk rampage through a populated city. As of yesterday, the Hulk was once more an object of hatred and fear.

For all of that, within his massive arms he delicately held one of his fellow Avengers. A beautiful human female, with red hair like fire, and emerald green eyes.

 **-Alien Sun-**

Natasha Romanoff, a.k.a. Black Widow was still disorientated, even as she realized she was flying through the air, secure in the Hulk's arms.

Then down they went as the Hulk landed on a landing platform of the Helicarrier, yet despite the force with which they reached it, he still absorbed the impact so that she barely felt a tremor. Gently he laid her down on the ground, and promptly turned to run back the way he had come.

Struggling to sit upright, Black Widow watched his latest jump take him back into the city, quickly followed by another which took him unerringly towards the Avenger's own Quinjet, which she last remembered firing upon them. Clearly Ultron had hijacked it.

Perfectly timed, the Hulk touched down onto the open ramp, and ran into the jet.

About five seconds later, a dark figure that Black Widow recognized as Ultron's prime body –now even more battered— went flying back through the hatch. Flailing through the air, he impotently crashed down to the city below.

Wincing, Black Widow stood up. For all her formidable fighting skills, she remained primarily a covert operative. Moreover, she was just a regular human, so there was no way for her to rejoin the fight on Novi Grad. Her place now was getting to the Helicarrier command deck and helping coordinate the rest of the battle.

Then something flickered up her spine, and she spun around.

Hulk and the Quinjet were still flying away.

This was understandable, since for all the Hulk's incredible fighting instincts, he had never demonstrated the sophistication, nor the physical finesse to manipulate a control board with his oversized fingers. Doubtless Hulk was reluctant to return to being Bruce either, since Ultron had just attacked them when she had tried the Lullaby — _That's probably why Hulk targeted the Quinjet_ —and not to mention that—

Black Widow went away as Natasha Romanoff stiffened in horror.

Flashes of memory flared like lightning through her mind

 **-Alien Sun-**

[Flashback]

 _It was just yesterday and they were at Clint's farm, in the guest bedroom._

 _"The world just saw the Hulk," Bruce said as if it were final. "The real Hulk for the first time. You know I have to leave."_

 _Yet Natasha was unmoved. "You assume I have to stay."_

 _…_

 _She's closed to him, lips nearly touching. "What're you doing?" he softly asked in confusion._

 _"I'm running with it," she whispered back. "With you. If running's the plan, as far as you want."_

 _Bruce stepped away with a touch of horror. "Are you out of your mind?"_

 _"I want you to understand that I'm—"_

 _"Natasha," he cut her off. "Where can I go? Where in the world am I not a threat?"_

 _"You're not a threat to me," she said as she stepped forward before he interrupted again, totally out of character for him._

 _"You sure? Even if I didn't just..." he stopped unable to say_ kill you _. Trying another tack he said, "There's no future with me."_

 _…_

 _Less than an hour ago as the entire world seemed to shake and they both knew Ultron was putting his endgame into action._

 _"We've got to move," Bruce said, having rescued her from the robot's captivity._

 _"You're not going to turn green?" she incredulously asked._

 _"I've got a compelling reason not to lose my cool."_

 _In a split-second Natasha made a decision, letting her eyes light up with desire. "I adore you." Grabbing his head, she pulled him into a passionate kiss. Then pushed him into the deep pit. "But I need the Other Guy," she said quietly in apology, despite how he could not hear her._

 _A second later the imposing figure of the Hulk leapt from below to tower over her and smirk. "Let's finish the job," she said._

 **-Alien Sun-**

Present

 _He's going to run!_ Natasha realized as she took off running towards the Quinjet. The Quinjet outfitted with the most sophisticated and undetectable stealth capabilities known to man, and an opportunity unavailable when he had been more accepting of the Lullaby mere minutes ago.

"War Machine," she barked into her com. _Flattering Rhodes by calling him his preferred call sign will help make him more receptive._ "How are you doing dealing with the drones?"

" _All clear_ ," he radioed back. " _I'm just hanging back to keep an eye out for any more._ "

Ruthlessly and remorselessly she weighed the risks of what she was proposing, forcing herself to put emotions aside and consider the cold, hard logic of the situation. She would _not_ risk Armageddon. However there were no other flying vehicles in sight, none which could get her close enough in time, or without damaging the Quinjet anyway— _Fury must not've had time to grab any for this_ — and Iron Man was too essential to saving the world right now. And at the end of the day, Bruce, including the combat potential of the Hulk, was not worth risking the possibility of Ultron's return for Round Two. Next time he might get it right.

" _One moment_ ," War Machine added on before seeming to talk to someone else. " _That all of them? …Yeah? …Alright. Okay Widow, all accounted for. At least the flying guy in the cape seems to think so. Oh, says his name is Vision._ "  
 _He must mean the new guy who Ultron was originally planning to be his ultimate body,_ Natasha knew. _He was directly connected to Ultron's mind at that point, so he'd know best if we missed any. Plus, Ultron was cocky enough –Stark-like enough— to bring all his drones together like that, and to keep fighting until it was too late. If he had a back-up plan, we'd have either heard him boast about it already, or it's too far away to make a difference right now. And if it's the latter, then we need the Hulk to help stop it,_ she ruthlessly concluded. _Good, that means I'm free to do what I_ really _want._

"I need a pick-up. Triangulate on my signal, and take me to the Quinjet, as fast as you can safely go."

With that she leapt off the edge of the landing platform.

A second later, a figure in full-fitting metal armour was carrying her bridal style towards the fleeing craft.

And yes, Natasha had a dread sensation that 'fleeing' was the proper term.

Also: _I really need to make Stark give me some way to fly. I'm tired of being carried around. Maybe something like Falcon's artificial wings so I don't seem like a Stark-groupie?_

Distantly she listened to War Machine bragging about how well everything was going, with undertones of how awesome he himself had done. Not wanting him to get curious as to why she had not asked Vision for a lift, given how she neither knew him, had reason to seriously trust him beyond saving the Earth from Ultron, nor knew how truly pliable he was, Natasha gave words and sounds of affirmation where appropriate, working on autopilot.

She had a . . . friend, to catch.

 **-Alien Sun-**

Grunting with pain from aches and pains of a non-stop battle, yet also from the sheer emotional toll of all he had endured, Clint Barton, a.k.a. Hawkeye, collapsed down onto his seat on one of S.H.I.E.L.D's Lifeboats. "No, no, I'm fine," he said as he waved off an agent offering to help. Trusting the Avenger's word, the man went off to help others as Clint laid down on his side across the row of chairs. "It's been a long day."

On the floor beside him, right where the master archer could see in full detail, was the corpse of Pietro Maximoff. A kid who had grown up since the age of ten hating Stark and then later the Avengers, and today had fought beside them to save the world. Had saved Clint and a child.

Ultron had hijacked their Quinjet and shot at them in one last act of petty defiance before taking off, and Clint had almost bought it because he was not fast enough. Except Pietro had given his life for a former enemy. " _You didn't see that coming?_ " had been the kid's last words, a mocking taunt from their clashes turned into one last joke.

Too drained from everything, Clint just lay there with his eyes open, even as his brain just went to sleep.

 **-Alien Sun-**

They were not going to make it.

" _I'm not going to make it_ ," War Machine said through his helmet radio. " _I can't go any faster without killing you._ "

As it was, Natasha was wincing against the wind pressure battering them. Without a protective suit like his, there was only so much speed she could safely handle. As it was, the only reason they had gotten as close as they had was because the Quinjet had not been leaving at full velocity. Unfortunately, its acceleration was now slowly pulling it ahead.

 _What I wouldn't give for a grappling cord gun_ , she thought with consternation. Unfortunately, she had not equipped herself with one before heading out to confront Ultron in Korea.

Then she knew what to do.

Drawing a pistol, she fired into the open hatch of the Quinjet with unerring accuracy. Even as she leveled the weapon she was automatically calculating wind speeds and directions, effect of the air pushing against her and War Machine, the slightest shifts in the armoured hero's flight, angle of the plane, and overlaid a mental blueprint of the Quinjet itself. Hawkeye could do all of that within a second of leveling his arrow for a single shot. It took her three whole seconds, and emptied the clip on full auto.

Armour-piercing bullets threw up sparks as they struck a certain locker, to Natasha's lack of concern. She may not be a mechanic, but she had spent many hours poring over the blueprints while visualizing various potential scenarios. While she had not envisioned _this_ , she had considered possible hostage situations, and knew that any missed shots around her target would only pierce the door, with a low probability of any ricochets. Moreover, there was nothing critical behind it, and Tony had built in triple redundancy to his creation.

(Although for some reason the man had forgotten to install a bathroom. Seriously, not even a little cubicle).

The important part was that the locker contained a cable meant to be lowered down to people while flying/hovering above ground. As a safety feature, Tony had also had it so that in a crisis, his teammates, the ones with both fantastic reflexes and ability to use a gun faster than they could hit a stationary emergency switch they were standing away from, could shoot at it to release the contents which would then be ejected towards the hatch. Freed, the coil went right into open air to trail behind, right into Natasha's waiting hand.

"Thanks for the lift," she said, shifting free of War Machine's grasp. "I'll take it from here." Without another word she started pulling herself towards the Quinjet.

Cutting his thrust, War Machine floated there on his rockets for a few seconds to watch her. "Wow."

Then turned around to get back to his other job. No sense in leaving the civilians alone too long.

 **-Alien Sun-**

S.H.I.E.L.D Helicarrier

"Any word from Romanoff?" asked Fury.

"One moment," answered Maria Hill, his right-hand. "Tracking her signal…mid-air. War Machine's nearby." She placed a quick call to the suited man, and then turn to her boss. "Romanoff's getting onboard the Quinjet with the Hulk there. He says she's going to try and help him turn around."

Unfazed, Fury merely nodded. "Alright. What's the status with the evacuation?"

"Just the last stragglers left."

Touching his earpiece, Fury said, "You get that Stark?"

" _I read you loud and clear_ ," Iron Man answered. " _Cap'll let us know when everyone's safe._ "

" _Pietro's down_ ," the man in question cut in, and they could hear the pain leaking through. " _Hawkeye's aboard the Lifeboats. Hulk and Widow?_ "

"Accounted for," Fury simply said.

" _I'm heading for the Trigger_ ," Thor added over the radio.

Nothing more was said. They all knew what they had to do.

 **-Alien Sun-**

Avenger's Quinjet

With a final low grunt, Natasha pulled herself safely onto the deck of the Quinjet. Once she was on firm ground, she could only lay there gasping for breath while sweat dripped onto the deck. Low air at high altitude, fighting against wind pressure while climbing up a swaying and bouncing rope . . . Even she had limits, and she had very nearly passed them. _Right, I'll have to note that as a new training exercise. I'll have to make Steve wear weights though_.

Collecting her thoughts as her body regained its composure, she looked up ahead.

Sitting down on the floor before the controls was the broad, green back of the Hulk.

 _I don't think I've ever seen him that passive. Plus there's no way he didn't hear me coming, and yet he neither came to help, nor try to stop me_. The latter of which would inevitably involve killing her given the height they were at. A possibility that Natasha had never really considered until now. It was possible she trusted the Big Guy too much. _Now what do I do?_

This was not a scenario where she could mentally dominate a physically superior alpha male with force of personality alone. In a very real sense, the Hulk _was_ a force of personality.

Audibly taking a deep breath, Natasha revaluated her situation.

She was in a confined space with arguably the most dangerous being on the planet, because intuitively she believed he had chosen to not turn the jet around.

The reason the Hulk was even up and about was because she had betrayed his alter ego. Except that Bruce was a part of the Hulk, and vice versa. Most people, including the Avengers, believed that the Hulk was the embodiment of the rage that the supposedly mild-mannered scientist claimed he _always_ felt. However, Natasha was not so sure that was accurate, as she was starting to believe that perhaps the Hulk was slowly developing his own identity; except of course she might be projecting, given her own interactions with him. Either of them.

Regardless, there was still a deep connection between both halves. If Hulk was flying away, trying to disappear, then that meant on some level Bruce wanted to do so too. To get away from the Avengers. His friends. From _her_. From whatever it was that was between them.

"A lady doesn't appreciate being ignored," Natasha declared as she walked forward, heels deliberately clacking against the deck. "Except I get the feeling you're rather angry at me right now, and are just giving me the silent treatment."

The Hulk said nothing. Indeed, on the rare occasions he did speak, it was only one to three words.

Stopping an arms-length away, her razor-sharp mind considered the situation, and reminded herself that total and brutal honesty was the way to go here. She also suspected that the Hulk was too sensitive to the emotional tells of other people to be easily lied to. "As nervous as you can make me at times, I want to throw my arms around your neck and rub your chest and tell you it'll all be okay."

He twitched.

Clenching her jaw momentarily at how awkward this felt, Natasha plowed on. "Because I trust you not to hurt me, despite what Bruce thinks. Despite all the other people you've hurt. And I know you're not so angry that you didn't save me from Ultron, or get me someplace safe. For that matter, if you were that angry, you could have hurt me when you jumped out of the crater. Or been less of a gentleman, and not deal with the one who shot at me."

What may have hurt Bruce the most about the 'Other Guy' was how _his_ body was used to kill. Not preemptively, no. Never that. If the Hulk had ever attacked for the _sake_ of killing, _nothing_ would have stopped Bruce, Tony, and the rest of the Avengers from finding a way to end the threat he posed.

Unfortunately, it was impossible to go smacking around all those Chitauri aliens, arms dealers, and H.Y.D.R.A. goons without killing people. While many of the humans Hulk fought did live to be healed and interrogated (the aliens had all died when Tony blew up their mothership), sadly many of them would live out the rest of their lives crippled from their injuries. In the worst case, well, anyone sent flying from a punch into a tree trunk by a fist that could smash tanks, could very easily end up as a corpse.

The point being, Hulk was as much a killer as the rest of the Avengers, and so was Bruce for letting him out. Except he was also not the bloodthirsty monster that Bruce seemed to think he was. Like the rest of the Avengers, he was as much a defender as he was a fighter.

Ignoring those concerns, Natasha continued. "Almost like our Lullaby, except we're not just feeling each other's pulses in our wrists while I say it, nor trying to get you change back right away. Just showing I care."

Silence fell as she let him process this, and then his back muscles stiffened.

"I'm not lying, and we both know it. I'm not sure you even can be lied to. This isn't some game where I'm trying to talk you into coming back to the Avengers just so you can punch people for us, and Bruce builds fancy stuff. I'm . . ." she broke off to take another look at her own feelings.

"I pushed Bruce off not just to save people," she slowly says aloud, "but also because he was going to run. He was too afraid of you to risk letting you out. Especially near civilians. After Johannesburg where he says people saw the 'real Hulk.'"

Now the Big Guy tensed even further than before.

"…You're upset about that too. Too bad. Bruce chose to refuse to trust you, to trust us to keep you away from any civilians if you _were_ a danger. So he wanted to run. Except I know the truth. You're a hero, and you proved it today.

"Without you, people would've died. _Everyone_. Because we wouldn't have been able to stop Ultron from using his homemade meteor. You didn't even have a radio for us to call you on, and you still knew we needed you at the Trigger to stop him. Not to mention everyone in the city that you protected during the street fighting without hurting them. Even if we had somehow stopped Ultron without you, _those_ people would've died, and just knowing that would've torn at him for the rest of his life once he got his head back on straight. Because he would have done nothing to try and help them."

Natasha was here because at the end of the day, she _knew_ Bruce, flaws and all. And still held . . . feelings for him.

According to those ridiculous romance novels she had been forced to read as part of her spy covers at times, this was the part where she was supposed to be torn between kissing Bruce senseless, or shooting him.

Natasha was willing to settle for a civilized conversation that did not leave her remembering why she only willingly socialized with a handful of Humans. And of that handful, with the exception of Clint's wife Laura, and their children, they were all people who were considered abnormal by the rest of society. And, with the exception of all the Bartons, she could only handle them in measured doses. However there was one other exception; as she had come to really know him, talking with Bruce had started to feel weirdly pleasant.

Taking a deep breath, she stopped the pep talk, and got right to the main issue. "Now, everyone's as safe as they can be. Thor and Stark are going to work their magic, and there's nothing more people like you and I can do." She pauses. "You know, out of the two of you, I didn't think you'd be the one running away."

Back still turned to her, Hulk went still.

"And it isn't just that I betrayed his trust . . . you're afraid for him, aren't you?"

With a speed and grace that was absolutely terrifying for anyone that large, in such a confined space, Hulk was up and hunched over as he glared down at Natasha, barely any space between them as his dark green eyes burned into her light jade ones. "NOT BANNER!" he roared.

Clearly he thought she was treating him as if he were Bruce.

Refusing to react to the sheer volume and force of his words, Natasha still glanced to the side so as to not seem as if she were challenging Hulk. Then she steeled herself and looked at him head on. "You still care about him on some level," she flatly told him.

". . ."

"And when I pushed him over, it wasn't just a betrayal, it was a rejection. Both of you feel you don't belong, and Johannesburg only made it worse, and then I went and seemed to prove it to you both. So now you're helping him go off to wallow in self-pity, with you inviting yourself along."

Growling, Hulk barred his teeth, and Natasha knew Bruce would have a coronary if he ever found out she had spoken to the Hulk like this.

. . . If she ever saw him again.

 _That_ thought was like a sucker-punch to the gut, and she felt herself deflating. She turned to go sit on one of the aisle seats, giving him space without seeming to retreat, and looked up at Hulk with a sad and drained face. "I know he probably hates me now, but I still want to hear it from him. Talk to him. Otherwise the two of us are going to be left with nothing except regrets as we wonder 'what if?' forever.

"So please, let me talk to him. Please."

The Hulk stared at her, and then managed to softly rumble, "Like Hulk."

There was no childish curiosity, or need for belonging there, simply a flat statement devoid of emotion, which was scary, scary when he was supposed to be just Bruce's emotions with green fists.

 _No, he's something more_.

"Yes, I like you both very much," and she smiled a sincere smile that lit up her eyes. His lips twitched up in happiness too. Then her grin grew a little sad. "It's just that I think I like Bruce a bit more, though that's just because you and I never seem to connect during calmer stuff."

Hulk stared at her in silence once more, and the seconds stretched into minutes, until Hulk spat one word as a curse. "Banner!"

Then he doubled over in agony.

 **-Alien Sun-**

Twisting her hands and fingers in patterns that helped with her powers, even as they blazed with a crackling, red glow, Wanda Maximoff stalked towards the beaten, primary body of Ultron. The one the Hulk had thrown out of the Quinjet.

Pietro, her twin, was dead.

Killed by a monster that Wanda, playing upon Tony Stark's fears, had led the man to create. Knowing his own flaws would result in him creating his own worst enemy. And in her quest for vengeance, Wanda was responsible for countless deaths, and the endangerment of everyone.

So she had abandoned her post, and spent the next few minutes finding the robot amongst the rubble of what remained of her homeland's capital.

"Wanda," Ultron softly said, too damaged to move. "If you stay here, you'll die." Despite his half-melted face, it almost seemed like he was concerned for her. That he cared about the time they had been friends.

She was beyond caring about that.

"I just did," Wanda hoarsely told him. "Do you know how it felt?" Then a crimson light lashed out from her palm at Ultron's chest, and machine or no, he gasped in pain as even vibranium, the world's strongest substance, started to twist and tear before her will.

Until Ultron's reactor was ripped out and she held it in her hand like a human heart before his dimming eyes. "It felt like that," she informed him with dark satisfaction.

 **-Alien Sun-**

"NOW!" ordered Iron Man as he used every scientific trick he had on the core of Ultron's engine as his artificial meteor burned down through the skies to destroy humanity.

And the God of Thunder answered with all his gathered power, bringing the full force of his hammer and lightning down upon the keystone of Ultron's design.

The entire piece of massive rock was vaporized, even as Thor and Iron Man barely escaped with their lives. Not that it mattered to the two heroes; only that they had succeeded.

The Earth was safe once more.

 **-Alien Sun-**

Hulk was racked with pain as he stumbled around, while Natasha forced herself to look away during the arduous process. "Sun's going down," she whispered.

Green arms that could shred steel like a chainsaw through paper were barely managing to keep from breaking the close walls of the Quinjet as they flailed at the air. Except now his massive muscles were shrinking and condensing, turning into regular human flesh.

Despite being middle-aged, he was fit with hints of muscles surprising for a 'lab geek.' Honed body from years as a fugitive before becoming an Avenger, and then enhanced by regular and intense exercise driven by a concern —just short of active paranoia— that he had to be always ready to go on the run once more. Special pants courtesy of Stark also shrank with him, preserving his dignity.

Gasping, he collapsed to the deck as he struggled to breathe and remember who he was, where he was, and figure out what was happening.

Gritting his teeth in pain, he forced himself upright to look around, until a familiar voice spoke up. "Easy."

Head swiveling to face her, his first words were, "Nat! Are you alright?"

She felt like she had been kicked in the chest. Hard.

 _That_ was his first concern!? _Her_ safety!?

"I'll live," she answered as calmly as she could manage.

"Sokovia!" he went on. "What happened?"

"Safe as can be. We got as many people as we could out, got all the versions of Ultron, and Tony and Thor have an idea to destroy the city." Natasha cleared her throat. "The Hulk was a big help for all that."

He frowned and got a distant look as he sorted through his memories, including the hazy flashes he got from the Hulk. "You . . ."

"Forcefully changed you by pushing you down a deep pit. Yes."

"After you kissed me," he added, seeming equally stunned by that.

". . . Yes." She hated that hesitation. Honestly, is this what people had felt all those times she had seduced them, toyed with their emotions, and then betrayed them? Sometimes even executing them herself? This vulnerability?

Right, this was why she had spent so many years precisely doing her best to avoid a . . . relationship.

"Because it was the Hulk you wanted," Bruce accused, struggling to keep calm to be sure he did not transform again, yet with a trickle of anger leaking through. "Is that it?"

"Bruce Banner couldn't have saved those people!" she reposted. "Not at that point. And at the end of the day, you want to save as many as you can. That's who you are."

"Fat lot of good that did Johannesburg," Bruce bitterly noted.

"That wasn't your fault!" she shot back. "Neither of you were in a sound state of mind! You're a scientist, be objective about that at least!"

His brow furled in growing anger, although there was no sign of green in his rich, brown eyes. "I trusted you."

Past tense.

"Yes," she managed, keeping her face from showing any reaction. "And I abused that. Something I never wanted to do. If nothing else, I hope you can believe that. But you didn't give me much of a choice."

"So I don't get to make my own choices?" snapped Bruce. His temper was truly raised if he was arguing as opposed to a more passive-aggressive route. "After Johannesburg—"

In response, she only shook her head. "I won't take away your right to choose. Unfortunately, at the time you weren't thinking clearly. Johannesburg was an anomaly. It was _not_ a reason to never go Hulk again. And yes, you did trust me, and I treated you as less important than the Hulk during a crisis. I'm sorry, but there was no other way. And no time to convince you otherwise. Our mission was to save lives, and every second counted."

Bruce turned away from her, seeming to be trying to melt the hull with his glare alone. "What do you want?"

"Not forgiveness," she assured him. "Not for that. I want . . . I want for you to understand why. And to make sure you're okay. Even if you don't want me with you, I don't want you to go off on your own hating yourself. Hating yourself for not helping those people when they needed us the most and hating yourself for the Hulk."

"I helped create Ultron," Bruce quietly noted. "I tried to be _Doctor_ Bruce Banner again, and I somehow created something even worse than the Hulk. I, I need to get away. From everything. Everyone."  
"But I'm guessing you created Vision to stop him," Natasha argued. Honestly, she had still been locked up when all of that must have happened. Thankfully she had gotten a glimpse of the android while he was within the Cradle, and had put two and two together when she saw the newest Avenger. "The mistake you and Tony made was not talking to others about it. What matters though is that you learn from that."

Of course his brilliant mind easily understood she was saying that they all had to stick together. ". . . If I ask you to leave me, right now, will you?"

"Yes." Natasha's answer was firm and immediate. "Set me down, or give me a parachute even, and I'll leave." She sighed. "Just please don't go become a hermit and seal yourself away from the world. You deserve better." Cocking her head, she stayed sitting to wait for him to think it through, look over the angles with his genius intellect to decide if she was lying or not.

"Alright then, let's turn around," Bruce said without looking at her.

His response was just as instantaneous as hers.

"Huh?" she blinked.

Bruce got up and walked towards the First Aid kit, face set in a mask. "Civilians will still be hurt, so you'll have to fill me in as we head back. Can you get the controls?"

"Right," Natasha says, even as she realizes the truth. _It was a test and I passed. He hasn't said anything about forgiving me or where we're going from here. What matters to him right now is that the people who need his medical expertise come first._

Then the entire Quinjet started to lurch. On cue every control panel started flashing red, while the radio spat static. Just as the alarm started blaring Bruce moved at Natasha.

 **-Alien Sun-**

Instinctively Bruce threw himself at Nat, knowing it was the safest choice. Even if he was still furious with her, he knew she was more equipped mentally and physically to handle any surprises. _One last parting gift from Ultron?_ Bruce wondered, as he tried to figure out the cause of the turbulence.

One of Natasha's strong arms wrapped around him, while the other fought to steady them both as the floor and walls shook. Suddenly they were accelerating at dangerous speeds towards a bright light. The sheer force of it was so intense that Natasha went from trying to keep them both upright, to desperately holding on as they both hung horizontally, while the Quinjet threatened to tear apart.

However even Natasha had her limits against such strain, as she lost her grip the last thing Bruce saw was the back hatch coming at them at an alarming speed…

 **-Alien Sun-**

Pain was an old enemy of Bruce's. Not only did it suck, it told him he was still alive, which he had spent a good many years considering a downside.

Grunting, he forced himself up, and then spun around to realize he was laying on Natasha. Before he could say anything however, her eyes opened and she was fully awake. "Ow!" she hissed.

"Lie still," he ordered her. However bad he himself had been hurt, it could not have been too serious, or he would have already shifted, and the Hulk's bulk would have crushed her. In fact, the only reason that had probably not happened was because she had cushioned the impact for him. "You shouldn't have done that," he chastised.

"Saved you from going Green during an unstable situation," she shot back. "Besides, I wouldn't have you to check me out."

Fortunately, his quick examination indicated that there appeared nothing wrong with her. The First Aid kit had fallen back with them, and he used it to shine a light in her eye to check for a concussion. Miraculously she was fine. "You sure you don't have any super-solider serum in you?" he joked.

"Just a rumor the KGB spread to make my rep scarier," he told him matter-of-factly.

"Oh."

"What happened?"

"Uhm . . ." Slowly Bruce helped her up, and only then processed that they were still in the Quinjet, except it was dead and unmoving. In fact, it felt like they were resting on solid ground, although there was light pouring through the window.

 _But what're all those specks falling down in the distance?_ he wondered.

A metal blade cut through the side of the hull, and started to carve a hole. More appeared throughout the vehicle.  
"Whaa—!" gasped Bruce.

Then a hand pulled him up as Natasha went full Black Widow. Grabbing one of the secured bags, she nonchalantly commented as she sorted through them, "Remind me to get a refund from Stark. Can openers can open this up!" Then she slapped down a shaped charge right were the first vandal was nearly finished. "Cover your ears," was the only warning Bruce got before she detonated it with merely a meter between herself and it.

Fortunately Tony made reliable stuff, and anticipated such near-suicidal behaviour from his teammates, so the carefully directed blast barely shook Bruce. Although the 'BOOM!' was nearly deafening.

He still dimly caught the screams of pain from outside.

"Wait!" Bruce began, except Black Widow had already gone through the hole.

Cautiously Bruce poked his head out to see she was fighting atop piles of what seemed like junk against strange people wrapped in rags and strange masks. They had to be a H.Y.D.R.A. cell though; no one else on Earth had the sort of advanced tech they were using to try –and fail—to stop her.

 _Although some of those weapons seem to be just pipes used as clubs_.

Regardless, Black Widow was spinning, flipping, rolling, and staying constantly in motion to keep herself from being overwhelmed despite there being about fifteen of them. It was almost as if she were dancing as she tore them apart, bodies already littering the ground around them.

This was Bruce's first time truly seeing her fight. Oh, he had seen her in sparring matches where she dominated everyone besides Clint and Steve —and even the super-soldier had to keep on his toes with the super-spies, especially since their experience in life-and-death combat was actually greater than his own. Plus video recordings of her against H.Y.D.R.A. of course. Never in person though. And while a part of him was disturbed with the ease at which she dealt death, even if he conceded the necessity, he remained in awe at the grace and power she wielded. Of the surety behind each motion.

Fourteen as she shot one four times in the face.

Thirteen as she brought another to his knees with her stun baton, then used his body as a shield from high power energy blasts.

Then she kicked her human shield forward at them, with another explosive charge attached.

'BOOM!'

Once more, Bruce's ears rang as he tried to take stock of the situation as he peered through the smoke.

Three left, and Widow was using her stun batons to finish them off, doubtlessly wanting people alive for questioning. _Of course. We need to know how H.Y.D.R.A. somehow abducted us. Some sort of matter transporter?_

Finally, the last one fell.

 _They never stood a chance_ , Bruce knew. _She's just that good_.

Slowly, he inched out of the hole, trying to figure out what was so unnerving to him as he looked around. And then he saw the blood.

It was bright orange.

"What?" he whispered, before the sound of an engine snatched his attention.

A jet with more grace than anything Tony had ever built swooped down beside them. It was so advanced, it was almost like a spaceship. Then a ramp extended out of it, and a hatch opened to reveal one of the most beautiful woman Bruce had ever seen—which felt a little strange given how Natasha was right beside him, although he refused to feel guilty given how upset he still was with her. Clearly muscular, her complexion he would hesitantly place as an exotic mixture of South American and African heritage. Although her attire was a bit confusing, as she was wearing leather clothes, and what resembled silver tribal marks on her face.

She was also chugging back a large bottle of some liquid that Bruce assumed was alcohol. He hoped he was wrong. _Tony would be envious of her if she is, but that can't be good for her liver. For crying out loud, even Thor would be impressed!_

The stranger then tossed the empty container away, and dimly Bruce heard the sound of breaking glass.

With a confident swagger, if not slightly veering off a straight line, she sauntered down the ramp, and gave a slow clap, and Bruce could not tell if it was sarcastic or not. "That was pretty good," the woman smiled, her attention on the Avenger surrounded by bodies. "All on your own. You're a fighter, aren't you?"

"Yes," was all Black Widow said in response.

 _She's being cagey_ , Bruce realized as he shot the redhead a glance. _She thinks it's going to go badly._

Then the brunette cocked her head. "Is he with you? Were you protecting him?"

Now Black Widow said nothing, so Bruce decided he should say something. Hopefully this could end without violence still. _And none of this makes sense. Where did a human get a ship that advanced?_ They needed details. "Yes," he answered for them both. "We're—"

"Cute," the woman interrupted. "Well, I guess you can go together."

Then both her hands blurred and Bruce caught a glimpse of something small heading towards him before something bit into his neck.

And then **_PAIN_**.

 **~~To Be Continued…~~**

 **Author Notes:**

 **This story is actually a combination of various other story ideas that I never got around to writing, but was able to merge together for this :-) In fact, it was surprising how easily it all came together once I realized the ripple effect of Natasha not being on Earth for the events of Captain America: Civil War. So yes, this fic will cover not just Sakaar; that would just be cheapening the effect.**

 **.**

 **No, I have not forgotten about Vision's little scene with the actual final copy of Ultron. That will still be coming up. Vision was just reassuring War Machine that the drones had all been accounted for, as in he was well aware where the final one was.**

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 **Next Chapter: 'What a Dump'**

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 **Please Review, and I will get back to you!**


	2. What a Dump

For better or worse, I do not own any Marvel franchise

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Many thanks to my wonderful Betas, Bobbie23, Jesuslovesmarina, and MasterQwertster, who write some pretty cool stories. Go read them!

The fantastic cover image is courtesy of rickyryan. Just perfect!

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Avengers: The (Alien) Sun's Going Down

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Chapter 2: What a Dump

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Sakaar

Upon a world that collected the garbage of the universe – whether it be in the form of sentients or the junk they created — a sadly familiar scenario was playing out. The best slaver available to the government, a beautiful, humanoid woman with silver markings on her face, was examining her newest catch. Newcomers were always so surprised and vulnerable.

However . . . this time something different was happening.

Scrapper 142 –she had given up on her old name, along with her past— whistled in surprise as the scrawny guy started to bulk up and go green. _Guess he's more than Red's boyfriend, dad, or pet after all. Still…_

On cue the Obedience Disk adjusted its charge, automatically analyzing its subject to deliver a greater, more appropriate charge, keeping the strange man on the ground, writhing in pain. However, despite his helplessness, he kept on growing, developing impressive looking muscles that would make him an instant contender for the Colosseum. _The Grandmaster'll probably make him fight his lady friend though. Too bad_.

Then the green man looked up to glare at Scrapper 142 with a feral snarl.

Only reflexes ingrained so deep into a Valkyrie, that even millennia of heavy drinking could not dull, saved her as he suddenly appeared in her face.

 **-Alien Sun-**

Grinding her teeth in agony, Black Widow forced herself to move. _Push right arm down, now the left; raise your head…_

It was bad.

Hulk was losing.

The woman who had met and attacked them was too quick, skilled, and strong; ducking under blows to deliver targeted hits of her own to unbalance Hulk, or hit him in the armpits, joints, gut, or other vulnerable points. A powerhouse honed into a lethal, veteran warrior. Indeed, she fought like a female Thor almost. _And that says all I need to know about how dangerous she is._

Although _that_ had been obvious from the start.

Nonthreatening people did not walk up to strangers who were surrounded by dead bodies, and drink nonchalantly while complimenting you for doing a good job at killing. Never mind all the other little clues, such as the obvious alcoholism and unkempt appearance (the hair being the biggest clue), while walking into a combat zone with visible arrogance. Someone unafraid of violence, or committing it, with little regard for their own self.

From what little she said, Black Widow could identify a clear detachment from events unless something managed to vaguely interest her, and even then, their 'friend' (despite her obvious fighting prowess) seemed to have a short attention span.

Ergo, too much like one Natalia Romanova. A woman who had perished when she had decided that death was preferable to a life of servitude to the KGB. And a woman who had been reborn before that vow could become literal, by the hand of an archer who had offered her true and genuine friendship.

 _At least I hope I've become better than that_ , she thought.

Ruthlessly, Black Widow smothered that self-doubt. Something was wrong with Hulk, given the darkened veins covering his body, and the lack of coordination. The pain jolting through her own body was answer enough to that. They had both been struck by some kind of compliance and/or taser device meant to leave you helpless.

 _Except why am I still able to move? Any electrical shock able to hurt the Hulk would leave me smoking. . . . My suit! Stark, I forgive you for your useless Quinjet!_

Feeling more confident, Black Widow levered herself further upright. Her Widow Bites and Batons delivered an electrical shock powerful enough to damage even Ultron's Sentry Drones, despite the genius AI's incentive to make them as resistant to electrical charges as possible, given her, Clint, and Thor's usage of it. Her weapons, made by one Tony Stark, were just that powerful.

By necessity, the cat-suit she was wearing had been designed in turn to resist such a shock.

When their attacker had thrown those disks, Black Widow had felt it pierce right through the toughened material –she was certain it was on the part of her outfit that covered her throat— and into her flesh –and apparently it was staying stuck into Hulk's nigh-impenetrable skin too— just before inflicting her with this pain and additional body spasms. Yet if her protections were somehow already able to dampen the charge when it was supposed to paralyze her . . .

Remembering how she had beaten Alexander Pierce's booby-trapped 'security badges,' she slapped a Widow Bite right to whatever was stuck to her neck to short it out.

The sudden surge in voltage cut off even her ability to scream in agony.

And it did not stop.

 **-Alien Sun-**

A kick to the jaw made Hulk spin around momentarily while still off-balance, to see Tasha shuddering on the ground.

Snarling terrible fury, Hulk turned back to Hulk's enemy.

While whatever enemy had done to Banner caused Hulk pain, and Enemy's sneaky tricks and hits caused more, it was still only _pain_. And at the bottom of what mind Hulk possessed, that only made Hulk feel satisfaction.

Pain only fueled Hulk's anger.

Hulk was always angry, powerful.

Hulk was free to vent it now, and enjoy the fresh air. . . . Although something worried Hulk about that, and not just that this was a stinky place.

Then Enemy stopped hitting Hulk to start hitting Enemy's hands together.

. . . Hulk would call Enemy, Angry Girl. For all that smirk on Angry Girl's face, Hulk knew Angry Girl was also angry. Just not angry like Hulk.

Then Angry Girl's arms lit up with blue lights before Angry Girl pointed Angry Girl's fists at Hulk, and Hulk roared in agony as Hulk felt himself being shot in the back. _Hard_.

 **-Alien Sun-**

 _You are truly a contender for the Grandmaster_ , Scrapper 142 thought as the remotes on her gauntlets finally started working. _I'll make_ so _many units off you and your little friend!_

On cue, the remote-controlled gatling guns had deployed from _Warsong_ to open fire on the green man, shooting him in the back with enough fire-power to vaporize a small army already.

Unfortunately, it appeared her personal ship might not be enough. There was no sign of flesh being burnt off or damaged in any way, so she knew it was not doing any serious damage yet. Moreover, this angry man was strangely resistant to the Obedience Disks. _For crying out loud, he shouldn't even be moving! Oh well._

First, a quick order onto the holographic controls on her gauntlets to order _Warsong_ to maintain fire on its current target.

Reaching behind her back, Scrapper 142 pulled out a baton that extended and expanded into a long pole with a spiked ball attached. Swinging it at a knee joint, she brought him down headfirst into a snap-kick.

 _Guess I'll have to get dirty after all._

 **-Alien Sun-**

 _Security feature_ , Black Widow groaned to herself as she forced herself awake from what the compliance device had done to her. _Tough enough that my Widow Bites weren't enough to affect it, and smart enough to punish me for resisting. Clearly advanced tech_. _It's back to the original voltage now too, just in case._

 _Bet it'll do the same or worse if I try and cut it out, and that assumes I won't bleed to death from ripping out my own throat. Not to mention nerve damage if it's stuck inside of me._

She looked up just in time to see Hulk fall onto his back as he was smashed in the jaw by an impractically long mace. _Although if it works, it's not really 'impractical_. _'_

Propping himself up on one elbow, Hulk visibly spat out a tooth, before slowly standing back up.

Strangely, the woman did nothing to stop him, which made no sense at first to Black Widow. While it was possible she was planning to outlast him and wear him down, she already had the initiative. Moreover, Hulk's darkened veins and shaking from his own compliance device made it clear he was fighting off some impressive pain, which along with the high-powered weaponry now raining down on Hulk, gave her all the edge she needed.

 _Unless . . . it's because she wants to make clear her dominance? Stretch out a fun fight? Or is she just enjoying his pain on some twisted level?_

Frantically Black Widow's green eyes flittered about as she tried to figure out what to do.

It took precious seconds, but she did it.

Grabbing the explosives that were still lying beside her, she removed a detonator and one piece of what Stark called C4-Ultra, and awkwardly threw the rest ahead of her; barely managing fifteen meters, which was frankly pathetic.

Then she inched towards the closest, and meanest looking, gun her earlier attackers had been using.

 **-Alien Sun-**

 _Not much longer_ , Scrapper 142 thought with satisfaction. The green man's movements were becoming increasingly slow and uncoordinated. Then it would just be a matter of bagging him up, and then his lady friend. _Almost a pity really. It's nice to have someone I can keep hitting without killing them; and he's doing his best to make it a challenge too. Maybe I'll pay him a visit in the colosseum afterwards for a little spar. Heh, why not Red as—_

With a loud 'BANG,' the rate of fire from _Warsong_ halved.

Seeing the lack of lights from her gatling guns, she quickly circled the green man to see his woman had picked up one of the more advanced guns from one of the Scrappers who had attacked her earlier, firing high-energy shots at the other turret; aiming for the thin –and lightly armoured— spur that connected it to her ship. Red's aim was bad, except she should not have been able to even fire in the first place. Were both Obedience Disks defective!?

Feet hammering the ground, Scrapper 142 zoomed towards the woman, aiming to knock her unconscious before she cost her any more money. Repairs for the _Warsong_ were worth several good drinks alone!

Then fire and noise exploded beside her and Scrapper 142 went sailing through the air.

 **-Alien Sun-**

Fear was an old friend of Black Widow's. Throughout her life she had suffered it, yet also embraced it. For like pain, it meant she was alive. Which meant there was always an opportunity to cause her _tormentors_ to be afraid.

Whether she found herself tied to a chair while being threatened, or imprisoned by an insane Ultron – _Had that really only been a few hours ago?_ — or whatever, so long as she was alive, there was always the slightest opportunity to turn the tables. And she always had.

Ever since graduating from the Red Room, there had been only one exception to that rule, and that had been the terror when the Hulk had tried to kill her within the cramped confines of the Helicarrier.

Here? Now?

A torture device trying to make her submit, while shooting with an unfamiliar weapon to take out turrets, while a possibly Thor-class enhanced individual was trying to kill her? Not a drop of sweat.

Her skills and experience were rising to the occasion, and most importantly, she was an Avenger. That meant she was not alone in saving the day. In fact, her teammate was the Hulk himself this time. In fact, usually _he_ was the one to bail them out when they ran into the heavy hitters like tanks, bunkers, or whatever. Now it was her turn to return the favour.

Plus, she still had a few tricks left to play.

The mystery woman was so focused on Black Widow that she had not spotted the bag of explosives amongst all the junk, and Black Widow had been hiding the detonator (awkwardly) in one hand while still firing. Unfortunately, while setting off a bag of explosives as your enemy runs by them might be a good idea, doing so when you yourself are only fifteen meters away is less so.

'BOOM!'

Once more, Black Widow fought to stay conscious, finding herself now aching and bruised from the concussive force of the C4-Ultra.

Undaunted.

Pushing all distractions aside, she levelled the weapon –despite how the awkwardness of the strange design made it hard to aim—to target the ship's second and last gun to—

Hulk ripped it off with a snarl.

Clearly the Big Guy had been tired of that ship shooting at him, and while his back was starting to bleed, he was still as relentless as ever.

His head swiveled towards their attacker who was now back on her feet, except Black Widow managed to gasp out, despite the ongoing pain as electricity jolted through her, "Hulk! Here!"

Growling, he quickly came to her, and she managed to hand him her final shaped charge. "Hold it to your neck where it hurts the most. This'll sting, but help."

Puzzled, he complied, and she set that one off too, his hand containing the blast to a mere muffled 'Boom.'

Snarling in pain, green blood dripping briefly from his neck, Hulk turned on Black Widow in betrayed rage.

 **-Alien Sun-**

Tasha hurt Hulk! Hulk had trusted Tasha like Banner had and Tasha tricked Hulk and now Hulk would—

Hulk stopped. Hulk's body no longer hurt, and was doing what it was supposed to too. Tasha had helped Hulk.

"Cute," Angry Girl said as Angry Girl walked up, graceful like Tasha, but strong like Banner's Hammer-Friend. "Guess we do this the hard way."

Angry Girl swung Angry Girl's weapon at blitzing speed and with all Angry Girl's strength.

Hulk caught it.

Slowly, to drive home just how _ANGRY_ Hulk was, Hulk pushed the weapon aside so Angry Girl could see all of Hulk's teeth barred in a snarl.

Angry Girl flashed Angry Girl's own white teeth in a strained smile. "Hey there," Angry Girl said in a soothing tone like Tasha's, when Tasha wanted a man to do something for Tasha.

Hulk's fist met Angry Girl's face.

 **-Alien Sun-**

"Hulk! Stop!" yelled Black Widow again. Still he did not seem to hear her.

Their attacker was on the ground now, with Hulk standing over her and raining down his fists as he pummeled the life out of her.

"Hulk! Stop! I need her help!"

That got his attention, and he paused to glance over his shoulder at her.

"Bring her here. Please," gasped out Black Widow, the electrical current driving through her body not abating.

Obediently, if reluctantly, Hulk dragged the woman over to her. Not stopping to check for a pulse, Black Widow's shaking hands feverishly fumbled across the bruised body, until finding an electronic device. Gambling on what was the 'off' switch, she hit a button.

Sweet release.

Glancing down at a small sound, Black Widow saw that there was a little metallic disk on the ground now.

Sighing with relief, Black Widow rolled away from it and onto her back, eyes closed. "Thanks Big Guy," she whispered.

Sucking in deep breaths, she reasserted her self-control.

"Tasha," Hulk rumbled. Then again with insistence, and . . . concern, "Tasha!"

Lids shooting open, Black Widow took in the sight of holes in the sky.

Holes dropping stuff.

Stuff like junk.

Rolling up into a standing position while instinctively picking up her dropped batons and 'appropriated' blaster rifle, for the first time Black Widow truly took the time to take stock of her new environment. Including the inhuman face of one of the bodies lying dead at her feet, mask removed.

Swallowing, Natasha Romanoff struggled for a minute to reassert her apathetic persona. The woman undaunted by _anything_.

That particular mask had taken quite a few beatings since Nick Fury got the bright idea to form the Avengers Initiative.

Running up a literal hill of debris, she took in the horizon from all sides.

As far as the eye could see, there were mounds and mounds of garbage. In some places they came together like rolling hills, whilst in others they were surrounded by what _looked_ like lakes of water.

However, that alone did not truly depict how alien this all was.

Again, there were purple, red, and blue _holes in the sky_ that were raining down a seemingly endless stream of stuff. Easily a dozen of these holes at first glance.

And on her right the view was dominated by thick dark clouds circling a simply massive hole that seemed to bleed red light. Even from this distance it seemed larger than the artificial meteor she had been fighting on less than thirty minutes ago.

. . . It was thoughts like that –ones which should be surreal but were real— that nearly made Natasha want to pull a Stark, and throw a party while drinking so much booze the world blurred into the oblivion.

Oh, and to her left was some sort of city. Except the skyscrapers she could glimpse were both taller –as far as she could estimate the distance— and more angular than any Black Widow had ever seen.

Standing beside her, Hulk was clearly as confused as she was.

Looking at him, she declared, "I need Bruce."

"No! No Banner!" barked Hulk.

Stopping herself, Black Widow thought of what to say. She could not risk upsetting the Hulk. It clicked together. "Look, I'm scared," she readily admitted. "This is like nothing I've ever seen before. I have _no idea_ what's going on. And we don't know if there are any more threats here like her," gesturing at their downed would-be captor, "that we'll have to deal with.

"I get it. This place will set Bruce off, right?" she said. "One minute we're on Earth where it's normal, sorta, and now we're here and aliens are attacking us. He'll get so agitated he might end up changing right back into you again, so it'll be all for nothing. Don't worry, I'll keep him calm."

The stormy expression on his face was visibly mutinous.

"Look," she flatly said, devoid of any emotion. Not daring to let her own stress get the better of her. "Like I said, I have no idea where we are or what is happening. We need the smart guy right now to figure it out."

Huffing with deep breaths, Hulk turned and then stomped in a circle, barely keeping his footing as he started a mini-landslide, and until he calmly (sorta) stood to face her again.

"Okay," Black Widow softly said, slowly and gently holding out one hand. "Sorry Big Guy, but sun's getting real low." For an instant she remembered how she had pushed Bruce into the crater. Quietly, she murmured, "I need the Other Guy."

Their fingertips touched, then he put the back of his hand into her palm, before she traced her fingers down his wrists and to the tips again.

Except this time, he hesitated, with greater reluctance in his expression than since they had first started doing this. "Please," she whispered.

Something flickered through his eyes, and then a moment later he was stumbling back as the transformation began again.

 **-Alien Sun-**

"I'm freaking out!" gasped Bruce. He had a _very_ sinking feeling he was standing on an alien planet.

"Hey!" Hands grabbed the sides of his face to pull him almost lip to lip with Nat. "Focus on my face. My voice. Calm down, and think about what you've seen. You're a scientist. Use all six of your Ph.D.'s."

"It's seven!" he snapped back automatically in stress and pride, before his brain rebooted itself. "And you already know that," Bruce dryly added.

"Good to see you're thinking again," she smirked. "Now, work with me here."

Bruce closed his eyes, slowed his breathing and calmed his heartrate, calling upon meditative exercises he had completely forgotten in his panic. "Alright," he said after five minutes, looking at her again. Trying to ignore how he could smell her, her breath so close he could feel it on his face. "I need to see the Quinjet's logs."

Then his analytical side caught up, and noticed how ragged her breath was, and the slightest tension about her eyes. The last time he had seen her like that was when he was stitching her sides back up after she had been stabbed by a knife. She'd joked with him about how she now _definitely_ could not go around wearing bikinis. And of course he had turned tomato-red, wondering how hardcore that scar would look under nothing more than a few bikini strings . . .

"You're hurt," he concluded aloud.

Wincing slightly –although Bruce could tell it was an act, that the pain was far from getting the best of her, but she wanted to keep him from being overwhelmed by where they are— Natasha shook her head. "Just some aches. Nothing broken." Seeing how he was unconvinced, she just gave him a slight glare. "I'm fine."

Unfazed, Bruce slipped one arm under hers to physically support her, and guided them both towards, well, he did not know exactly what it was, outside of that it was something flat, and looked stable. "Sure, sure. Just sit here for a moment so I can give you a quick look before we go sifting through garbage anymore and risk infection."

"You're the one going barefoot," she groused.

Indeed, he was wearing only his adjustable underwear and pants, walking around on only his tough, calloused feet, with no shirt on. It was chilly. Still, when on the run in South America, he had walked through jungles full of mud, animals, and insects a few times, so he was more than capable of handling a few discomforts. It was not like he could catch diseases anymore either, one of the few, slim, silver linings of the Other Guy.

"Fine." She looked away for the moment. "But you're getting a check-up too. You're not bleeding as bad as the Hulk was, but your back doesn't look good."

Bruce only grunted back, already planning to look for some clothes once he was sure she was okay, and when they had some answers to where they were.

Of course, he was already pretty sure of where they were, even if he was hoping to find some evidence to prove himself wrong. That they were still on Earth.

And if he _was_ right, then maybe they could find something to show them _where_ in the cosmos they were.

Once she was sitting down, he quickly ran his hands up and down her legs, felt her sides and arms, before finally focusing on her head. After a long moment staring into her eyes with a light from her belt to be sure there was no sign of a concussion, he then peeled back the neck of her suit to study where she had been punctured, and gently rubbed the little prick-holes.

It was her bemused voice that snapped him back to reality.

"You _do_ realize what this looks like, right?"

Stumbling back, Bruce realized he had been basically feeling her up while half-naked, and tripped on something behind him. Her hands snapped out to snag his own before he fell, and pulled him back up.

An amused twinkle in her eye, she then tenderly turned him around. "My turn, Doc."

Blushing, he felt her hands examine the skin of his back. "Alright," he heard her say. "It's already cleaning up fast. Like Thor those few times he actually got a scratch. Mostly bruises now. At least now we know if the Hulk's hurt bad enough, it'll transfer to you if we don't give it enough time. Alright, now I need you to look at me."

Obediently he did so. "Smile." Once more he obeyed, and she shook her head in wonder. "You've already re-grown an adult tooth somehow. Going to make a girl jealous."

"What can I say?" he shrugged, having readjusted to the flow of her gentle teasing.

Then as one, both their expressions became serious once more. They were still in the middle of a mission.

 **-Alien Sun-**

The Avenger's Quinjet was covered in visible scratches that breached the hull, one gaping hole by the back, along with sparks flickering through access panels that had been banged open, among other blatant safety hazards. Suffice to say, it did nothing to calm Bruce's nerves.

Natasha gave it once over, and proclaimed, "Not fit for higher altitudes, but should still work. And we've got her ship too," jerking a thumb in the general direction of the person the Hulk had beaten unconscious. Bruce had checked for a pulse, although he was not confident about brain damage.

Walking up to the security console, Bruce put his hand down upon the print reader. The computer beeped, and a neutral woman's voice said, "Voice activation required."

"Banner."

"Welcome, strongest Avenger," it declared.

 **-Alien Sun-**

"Strongest Avenger?" Black Widow repeated. "Dare I ask what Stark put down for me?"  
"Probably scariest Avenger," Bruce said, before hesitating and looking at her. "No offense."

"None taken," she smiled. "Anything useful?"

"Uhm, not yet," the scientist said, turning his attention back to the screen, scrolling through whatever data was available.

While Bruce was doing what he did best, Black Widow turned her attention back to collecting and cataloging what weapons and equipment they had available to use. Then to her surprise she saw something out of place. It looked like a full-sized door that had been knocked slightly ajar, except it was not on any of the schematics she had memorized. In fact, she had been told it was only a small cupboard (at waist level) for extra winter gear, and some magazines–which none of the Avengers were ever inclined to read anyways.

"Bruce?" she called out.

"Yes?" He spun around with clear concern they were under attack.

"What's that?" she asked, pointing at the mystery.

"Huh?" he said with obvious confusion. "That's just the door to the bathroom."

"The bathroom," she repeated.

"Uh yeah. Y'know, to go, to, the bathroom."

Black Widow stormed forward and wrenched the door open. Indeed, inside was a fully functional, if cramped given how little space was available, bathroom. There was even toilet paper that had "Hail H.Y.D.R.A." embossed on each square.

"This was not on the blueprints Stark gave us," she whispered with a deadly edge. "Or ever mentioned."

Realizing something was off, Bruce nervously rubbed his hands together. "You mean, you didn't know?"

"No. In fact, I, and Steve, Clint, and Thor that one time, had to go elsewhere to go, as you put it, to the bathroom. Usually in the woods, or some deserted alleyway given where H.Y.D.R.A. likes their little bases. And we couldn't risk trusting their own facilities. Oh, and by the way, the first time we didn't know we had to bring our own toilet paper. Stark _knew_ we were bringing and sharing our own afterwards."

Bruce winced. _Smart man indeed_.

"Of course, Stark's got a toilet built right into his suit. And yet the whole time there was a bathroom for the rest of us. Right here. Just not on any of the blueprints Stark gave us. Or mentioned on the tour he personally gave us all." She cocked her head. "You weren't there for that."

"Noooo," Bruce weakly said. "He gave me a private one." And was usually left on his own during missions. Left alone with the Quinjet.

A fragile silence hovered.

"Get us back home so I can show him what I think of his little joke," seethed Black Widow.

"I—I'll get right on that," Bruce promised, whirling around, fingers flying over the keyboard.

"Oh Tony, you're in for it now," he murmured.

 **-Alien Sun-**

Earth

With a start, Tony snapped back to consciousness to find himself entombed in darkness.

Then he realized he was in his suit with the power out –probably entirely drained—and lying face-down in the dirt.

With a touch of desperation, he rolled onto his back and ripped off his faceplate, sucking in deep breaths. There was a smell of water that reminded him of how his last thought was flying through a massive wave over a lake while dodging falling debris.

It was all coming back to him now, including how he had drained his suit of nearly every drop to blow up that city-slash-meteor.

With some effort given his heavy armour, he stood up –bruised and aching from blowing up a city in his own face, and was definitely going to need some quality time with Pepper in a hot tub—and took in his surroundings.

While he already had a good idea of what he would be looking at (seeing as how he was not dead), he wanted to savour the view.

Because hey, no massive crater or Armageddon!

Looks like the world was saved! Yay Avengers!

Heroes: 1. Ultron: 0.

Then Tony processed how he was also taking in a badly devastated nation. All because of _his_ little lovechild gone rotten.

When Rhodey finally found him, he was still sitting on the beach where he had crashed, etching the sight deep into his memory.

 **-Alien Sun-**

Sakaar

"You're positive?" Black Widow flatly checked.

"Yeah," replied Bruce, adjusting his new jacket. While she had been in the bathroom, he had found out what he needed to know, and had then discovered some of Tony's clothes lying around and put them on. However, he was a bit dismayed to realize that he now only possessed a single pair of his special stretching pants and underwear.

(What? He did not appreciate going commando, and waking up to find he had stretched his undergarments to the point of uselessness was beyond irritating.)

"We're definitely on an alien planet," she sighed as she repeated his confirmation. Honestly, they had both already figured that out, yet it was best to be sure to keep them from spiraling into denial. "Can we just patch up the Quinjet and fly back through the portal that brought us here? It's right above us, right?"

"No! No." Bruce insisted. "Not only would the Quinjet tear itself apart this time, I can't tell if the Einstein-Rosen Bridge is stationary or not on the other end!"

Translation: if they tried to fly into the wormhole, and somehow did not die trying, he had no idea where they would end up. Including whether or not they would come out in a volcano, or deep space. Terrific.

"We'll have to head to the city we saw then," she decided aloud. "If we stay here, we're likely to be attacked again. Next time, they might be smarter about it too. Hopefully it'll be safer there, and we'll be able to find some information."

"And get help," he smiled.

Black Widow gave him a flat look.

"You don't think so?" Bruce guessed.

"I think we need to _talk_ to our new guests some more, particularly the last one."

The scientist winced. He had a good idea what the kind of 'talk' she was thinking of would entail, and this time Black Widow would not be playing the vulnerable woman delicately drawing out information. Of course, he was well aware she could do the same from a dominating position, without actually resorting to physical violence. Unless such actions became necessary.

In today's world, the world the Avengers both protected and wished to build into a place where all were safe and free, torture was, at its simplest, wrong. It was something that the 'bad guys' did. When people with power and authority would deliberately and _methodically_ inflict pain on helpless people in their custody, displaying no regard whatsoever for their fundamental rights. Rights which, despite whatever governments spouted about terrorists, every human either had, or every human was denied.

Unfortunately, there were times when saving lives took priority. Situations where the Avengers found themselves with too little time available, had already exhausted every available option, and concluded they had no choice but to make exceptions. Because as much as they might wish otherwise, they had still not managed to help create a world where it was unnecessary. During their war with H.Y.D.R.A. since S.H.I.E.L.D.'s collapse, on three separate occasions the Avengers had needed immediate intel if they were to save lives, and Captain America had ordered Black Widow to use torture if she deemed it necessary.

She had.

During those 'sessions,' Black Widow had proven she was skilled enough to know perfectly well when her victims were telling the truth, trying to trick her, or just screaming out whatever stories they could think of just make the pain _stop_.

However, their leader had also made clear that they were to all address the potential consequences of this together as a team. _All_ the consequences.

While Black Widow locked her victims in a room with her, the rest of Avengers had been watching from another room. At first, Bruce (apparently the only one of the Avengers) had not fully understood why they had all been made to observe, so Steve Rogers had spelled it out for him.

First, for liability. Not for the H.Y.D.R.A. agents, but for Black Widow. With them as witnesses, they could defend her from any claims by government authorities that she had gone too far in getting the necessary answers. Or that she had forced confessions given under duress, which could later be deemed illegal, and evidence inadmissible due to the circumstances.

Second, so that none of the heroes could distance themselves from what 'necessary evil' involved. Despite the temptation, and despite how S.H.I.E.L.D. would have handled it, the Avengers would not look away and dump the dirty work onto someone else without knowing –or asking for— the details. They would not permit themselves to politicalize, downgrade, or rationalize away the word 'torture' into 'enhanced interrogation.'

Most importantly, if the Avengers were going to compromise themselves, then they were not going to try and hide from it and pretend the 'nasty stuff' had never happened. They were all complicit in it.

That way, after the mission was all over, when they looked at the people they had saved, and kept free, they could decide for themselves if it was worth it, or if they had gone too far. Steve Rogers wanted to be sure the Avengers questioned themselves, to prevent them from becoming –no matter how 'impossible' that might seem— the very people they had fought against: those who claimed that through violence and fear they were making the world a better place.

In the end, none of them, not even Bruce, felt that they had reached that point. All of the Avengers still believed they were heroes, and capable of pulling themselves back from the brink if necessary. Still, on those nights afterwards, they all tended to stay awake because they could not sleep well. They would help support each other –yes, even Natasha, which was one of the various things that made Bruce realize there was more to her— when they all were not entirely comfortable with the methods used. And they would talk long into the morning on what they could do next time to do their jobs properly. How in future they would do it more responsibly, without having to lower themselves to the same level as their enemies.

"Don't worry," she assured him, snapping Bruce out of his reflections. "I'm not going to torture them. Especially the Big Guy's new sparring partner."

Blinking in surprise, he just stared at her.

Holding up a hand, Black Widow raised a finger for each point. "First, we don't want to make a bad first impression here. Might already be too late, but you never know. Second, she fought the Hulk, so she has high pain tolerance to begin with, and is pretty durable, so I probably couldn't rig up something to hurt her before she wakes up in the first place. Third, given how little she seems to care for her own general welfare, I doubt she's the type to keep quiet to protect anyone else. Only herself, and even then only barely because she does still want to live to some degree. Fourth, the first group were opportunists, so they'll be even more willing to talk to save their skins. And finally," and now her eyes hardened, "we're not in a crisis, and it's only our lives on the line, so I'm not going to do anything extreme."

Wincing, Bruce looked away. "Sorry. I shouldn't have, I mean . . . sorry."

She waved a hand is dismissal. "Forget about it. We're both still shaken up from everything we've gone through today, and after fighting her like that, I see how you could've misunderstood me." Then she stopped, clearly deep in thought for a few minutes. Still a little ashamed, Bruce said nothing as she worked through whatever was concerning her.

Sucking in a lungful of air, Black Widow sat down on one of the seats, and let it out. Like him, she was drained of energy from the fight, the last several fights one after another in fact, yet tense and stressed from their absurd situation. Seriously, leaving a battle with genocidal robots, only to be sucked up by a wormhole and dumped into what appeared to literally be the garbage dump of the universe. What were the odds?

"Before we start," she said at last, head bowed, "we've got to figure out where we're at."  
"Uhm, sorry? I already said. We're on an alien planet, and—"

"You know perfectly well what I mean." Despite how harsh her words could have been, the softness in her voice prevented that. "We've spent this whole time dancing around it, hiding our feelings by talking to each other in metaphors, referring to a 'friend.' And now we're stuck on a whole different world, and we're all that we've got." She looked up at him. "One way or another, we've got to work this out so we know where we stand with each other. Otherwise this'll all just fall apart." Jaw flexing with uncharacteristic emotion, she got up and walked towards Bruce with her hand outstretched. "My name is Natasha Romanoff. I would like to enter a romantic relationship with you, because I care about you, and the Big Guy too, though just not as much as you. So I'd like to see how far we can take it, if we actually work at it. Especially since I'm sick of the fact we were both so awkward and hesitant about this before, that it takes being marooned on an _alien planet_ for me to get the message and just talk to you about it."

For a long moment Bruce just stared at Natasha's hand as if he did not recognize it, and then accepted it. "My name is Bruce Banner. I think you're the most fascinating woman I've ever met. You're smart, strong, confident, funny, and keep me on my toes.

"I'd be happy to be in a relationship with you, except that I'm afraid the Other Guy complicates everything to the point I don't know if it'll work or not."

Natasha just cocked an eyebrow at him, knowing he had more to say. Otherwise she would have delved right into countering that. Besides, if this was going to work out, she knew she would have to give him the space he needed to figure some things out on his own. Just as he would do in a heartbeat for her.

Letting her go, Bruce rubbed his hands in thought before meeting her gaze again, while she crossed her arms. "Alright, Sokovia and you pushing me down a hole . . . I don't like what you did to me. In fact, I'm still kinda mad about it." A finger shot up to stop her from saying anything. "Not to mention how unnerving it can get with how seemingly casual you are about changing us back and forth. However, I do know that aside from Tony, there's no one else I'd rather be with in this sort of situation than you. Although frankly that's because he'd be more usef—" Natasha cocked an eyebrow. "—I mean pretty handy for getting off an alien world. My point is, that I still seem to trust you. Want to be with you."

Natasha merely said, "For the sake of continuing this discussion, I'll ignore that bit about Stark. Anything else?"

Drawing in a calming breath, he replied. "I wish there'd been another way, but you were right. As much as it upset me, you did exactly what you should've done. I _would_ have regretted not saving lives, _but_ I still think the threat—" He paused as a flash of memory went through him, making his stop in open shock. "The Other Guy listened to you when you told him to stop from killing that woman," he whispered aloud. "Nat, I—"

He broke off, and his eyes glazed over. Eyebrow still cocked, Natasha just stared at Bruce, recognizing that expression to mean he was solving some complex problem.

Coughing into his fist, Bruce came out of it. "I just realized I'm being an idiot." Straightening his shoulders, this time it was him offering his hand. "Natasha Romanoff, can I be your," he hesitated before continuing, "I'm not sure how exactly to label what kind of relationship people with our lifestyles can manage, but can I be your boyfriend?"

It took all of her self-control to not so much as _blink_.

"That's a sudden shift," she dryly noted.

Shrugging with embarrassment, Bruce tried to tease her a little. Awkwardly. "Well, I'm twice your age so I know a few more things? I've even had a fiancé before at one time."

"Oh, this should be good," she smiled. "And I don't think you're as," her voice shifted an octave, " _experienced_ as I am." Her grin widened as he looked away with a slight touch of red to his face.

"What I mean is," he said after getting his voice under control, "we don't have to decide if we're going to be together for the rest of our lives today. Only if we want to see if it'll work out."

Bruce gestured at the alien sky visible through the cockpit with his left hand, while his right was still extended towards her. "And I have a feeling that if we're going to get back home, we're going to have to learn if we can work it all out or not. What do you think?" he asked as he turned back, and she grabbed him by the side of the face and pulled him to her.

Her lips brushed against his lips, and pulled back before he could react, giving him a look that promised more to come. "Sounds like a plan."

It was not a promise, not a guarantee that they would make it work. Merely the commitment to see if it _could_ work.

Which, frankly, is what all couples essentially did these days.

. . . They really had been idiots up to this point.

But for now they had some raiders and a slaver to question. With prejudice.

 **~~To Be Continued…~~**

 **Author Notes:**

 **For the record, this is not going to be a story where the local Asgardian will cheerfully help the Avengers. There is no Hela on the loose, nor Loki to force the last Valkyrie to confront the memories she has spent literally (given Thor's comments about wanting to be one when he was young) _thousands_ of years trying to run from. In fact, I find it telling that we never hear her name in Thor: Ragnarok, she is only addressed as Scrapper 142, or as _a_ Valkyrie. Her name is Brunnhilde, yet she never introduces herself as such, and is only called 'Valkyrie' in the credits. For all intents and purposes, Bruce and Natasha are dealing with a lady who is just as messed up as they are.**

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 **Next Chapter: 'Scrapper 142'**

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 **Recommended fics:**

 **(This is in addition to the ones I have recommended throughout Avengers: The Impossible Child. Basically new ones I have found since).**

 **"Never Say Never," by DarkHeart89**

 **"A Message For the Avengers: Ragnarok," by Thyeness**

 **"Empty Skies," by OverratedPendragon**

 **"Wakandan One-shots," by Vaneria Potter**

 **"One of the Girls," by KaydenceRei**

 **"Battle Lines," by NeverMessWithTeddyBears**

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 **Please Review, and I will get back to you!**


	3. Scrapper 142

For better or worse, I do not own any Marvel franchise

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Many thanks to my wonderful Betas, Bobbie23, Jesuslovesmarina, and MasterQwertster, who write some pretty cool stories. Go read them!

The fantastic cover image is courtesy of rickyryan. Just perfect!

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 **Guest Review answers :-D**

Guest

You ask and you shall receive! This story is going to be very much AU, so at the very least it is going to take more than just an Obedience Disk to take down the Hulk ;-)

Thank you for your review and support! :-D

Here is the newest chapter, and I hope you enjoy it! Looking forward to hearing your thoughts! :-D

.

Wanessa

Fico feliz em ver alguém amando Brutasha!

Obrigado pela sua análise e apoio! :-D

Aqui está o mais novo capítulo, e espero que você goste! Ansioso para ouvir seus pensamentos! :-D

.

Carlams

Fico feliz em ver alguém amando Brutasha!

Obrigado pela sua análise e apoio! :-D

Aqui está o mais novo capítulo, e espero que você goste! Ansioso para ouvir seus pensamentos! :-D

.

PJ

Thank you, glad to hear I am pulling off making Sakaar more of a 'Hulk adventure,' than just a 'Thor adventure.' With Black Widow along as well of course ;-) Now I just have to incorporate even more of Planet Hulk… *cracks knuckles*

(Suggestions on how I will do so are very welcome though)

Thank you for your review and support! :-D

Here is the newest chapter, and I hope you enjoy it! Looking forward to hearing your thoughts! :-D

.

Guest

LOL I am honestly amused and surprised myself as to how that toilet joke, and future ideas for it, have grown X-D

Thank you for your review and support! :-D

Here is the newest chapter, and I hope you enjoy it! Looking forward to hearing your thoughts! :-D

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Avengers: The (Alien) Sun's Going Down

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Chapter 3: Scrapper 142

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 _Previously: Bruce and Natasha find themselves stranded upon an alien planet surrounded by wormholes. Shortly after arrival they are attacked without provocation by a band of aliens living within the trash that covered the planet. Black Widow defeated them, and took a few prisoners, only to then be attacked by a female warrior. The woman tried to enslave them with special discs, which unleashed the Hulk and led to a protracted battle that the Avengers barely won._ _Upon securing their temporary safety, they confirmed_ _they were on another planet, and decided that they had been avoiding becoming a couple for too long._

 _However, back on Earth, the Battle for Sokovia was not yet finished . . ._

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Earth

Sokovia

S.H.I.E.L.D. Helicarrier

There were times Nick Fury really hated his job.

Somewhere along the line he had gone from being a respected USA army colonel, to being America's top spook, and now chief shepherd/babysitter for a bunch of people who belonged in comic books.

Back in the good old days, he just had to worry about the Soviets keeping all their crazies from launching any nukes. Now he had to keep genius inventors with untreated PTSD from creating genocidal robots.

That was another problem with being the man on top. _He_ had to help people work through all their problems, while pretending he did not have any of his own. If the ex-Director of S.H.I.E.L.D. ever wanted to talk to a therapist, he would probably have to end up permanently silencing them in the end.

Yet if the mask ever slipped, failed to be the fixed point of calm within the storm, then everyone else would start to lose faith and crumble. Never wavering in his Duty, as harsh a mistress as she was.

 _. . ._ _I'm never going to get a chance to retire, am I?_

Pushing his self-pity away until he could indulge in it at a safer time (i.e. never), Fury turned to Maria Hill, his trusted Number Two. "Get a call through to Pepper Potts and the Stark Relief Foundation, so we can start getting aid here." No need to explain what for, given how out the window they could both see the expanding –if not world-threatening– debris field that had once been a good chunk of the capital of an East European nation. Damage control was going to be a nightmare, his Helicarrier was laden down with refugees he had no real supplies for, and there was still the pressing issue of the mayhem the Hulk had caused in Johannesburg.

 _Speaking of which . . ._ Leaving Hill to delegate that job, he typed a few commands into his own screens to see what the situation was with the Quinjet carrying both Black Widow and Hulk. Grunting, he called out, "And someone get a hold of Romanoff. Or Banner. They're still cloaked." Catching a glimpse of some of his agents' reactions, he quickly headed off any concerns. "Romanoff's no fool, she wouldn't be there if the Hulk was going to hurt her. They'll be back."

Of course they would. Regardless of her faults, Natasha Romanoff would not run off until she was sure the job was done.

 _How far she's come_ , he reflected. Letting a supposedly ex-KGB assassin join the West's most vital intelligence apparatus, had been an obvious gamble on his part; even with Barton vouching for her. Especially given how she proved able to beat every lie detector test they could cook up. Except Fury was well aware that if someone genuinely wanted a second-chance, they would repay that opportunity with unwavering loyalty.

For Romanoff, she had been borderline fanatical.

Every mission, no matter what it entailed, she accomplished it for S.H.I.E.L.D.. Again and again going into missions without an extraction plan, because she was just that good.

Then he had begun to consider the Avengers Initiative, and instantly known that he needed both her and Barton as part of it. Their skills aside, as trained, veteran, and hardened spies, they could think and act covertly, while showing the other members how to do so as well. Or at least covering for something the others lacked. Most of all though, he had wanted them to be there to keep the Avengers focused on what it meant be Human.

When he had sent her to recruit Banner, he had known that would scare her; if the Hulk got out and went after her, there was nothing she could have done in that shack to even slow him down. However, the S.H.I.E.L.D. Director had been certain that she was the one for the job. Despite how she kept changing her masks and identities to the point even she did not think she had a 'real' one, he could see that deep down there was an iron core of self that even the Red Room had failed to break; the part, that no matter how it bled or hid while the rest of her was broken and remade, knew she was her own person.

In a different, yet no less devastating manner, Banner's life had also been torn apart. Except in his case, _no one_ could force him to do anything, and one way or another, everyone he had once trusted had been driven away; meaning he had to figure it all out for himself. For all his empathy and genius, he had been robbed of whatever sources of stability he had relied upon in life before his Accident. Bereft of that, no matter how well he had managed so far, Fury had predicted it would only be a matter of time until he snapped for good.

Enter Romanoff.

Contrary to whatever she and Banner might have believed, Fury had never expected her seductive tactics to work. Before the man had truly learnt how to hide himself, and S.H.I.E.L.D. managed to successfully divert their competition, rival agencies had tried to lure the man in with honey traps, intending to claim the Hulk as an 'asset.' They had all been dismal failures. Indeed, Fury was amused to learn that some second-rate spies had misread the situation, and started sending in _men_ to tempt him —which was a little piece of harmless blackmail Fury was keeping to himself for a rainy day. Maybe at the wedding reception, if he ever tied the knot.

Regardless, what Fury had _really_ been counting on was Romanoff's ability to either become, or fake, whatever personality was needed for the mission, as well as her own history of self-identifying as a monster, to make a genuine connection. To find the identity needed to stabilize the man.

Besides, Fury did care about her, and wanted her to appreciate life more. By becoming an Avenger and recruiting others, she could make genuine friends—and he believed that Banner would be a good start.

Obviously their first meeting had not gone as well as intended, given how Banner had managed to genuinely terrify Romanoff, yet the primary objective of getting him to come along had been satisfied.

Regardless, she had become an Avenger, and discovered a genuine place on the team, proving to the world without a doubt just why Fury held such high expectations for her and Clint Barton. They had, after all, helped save the world from invasion. Moreover, she had indeed started making new friends, starting with Steve Rogers when they had been partnered together.

Except she had, probably without her even realizing it, begun to change. To define herself as more than just a spy, as evidenced by her role in tearing down S.H.I.E.L.D., despite her years of service to it.

Becoming a hero . . .

And, as it seemed to even his critical (cynical, others called it) eye, a real relationship with someone.

 _Her and Banner, huh? Maybe they'll even get a happy ending together._

 **-Alien Sun-**

Unbeknownst to Fury, just a few hundred meters away from the helicarrier, yet supposedly well within range of its sensors, hovered a cloaked vessel so advanced it seemed almost alien in origin. Even inside, it was smoother and more artistic than the interior of S.H.I.E.L.D.'s most advanced craft.

"So, it is over then," the baritone voice noted with a touch of frustration.

"The Colonizers nearly killed us all!" snapped a harsh, female voice.

Turning in his chair, Prince T'Challa, the Black Panther of Wakanda, turned to regard Okoye, general of the Dora Milaje, and the head of Wakanda's armed forces and intelligence agencies. The bald woman he liked to regard as the king's left hand, while he was his father's right. Or his 'claws' might be a better analogy, as they served as the protectors in place of the aging monarch.

Wakanda.

A small African nation, known as a third-world country to the rest of the world whose only remarkable feature was the thick forests (too thick for easy development), and the locals' skills in textiles and shepherding. Especially goats.

All this was an elaborate fiction spun by what was actually the most technologically advanced nation in the world, due in no small part to its sole monopoly of an extraterrestrial element: vibranium.

Well, more accurately, they had only just regained their 'sole' monopoly,' as the only other source (originally stolen from them) had just been destroyed. After being used to construct a doomsday weapon.

Hence this investigation. Funnily enough, Wakanda took near global extinction by their own resources rather seriously.

"Yes, they did, but only a few of them caused this uproar," cautioned the prince. Truthfully, he was also relieved. The vibranium Ulysses Klaue had stolen, which had long loomed as a threat over Wakanda – _As vividly displayed here!_ — was no more. His agitation was because they had lost a lead to finding the criminal himself, as he was responsible for the deaths of so many of T'Challa's countrymen.

And yes, he was upset that an outsider had apparently created an Artificial Intelligence that had nearly doomed the world. Unacceptable. The War Dogs, their foreign intelligence agents, would be working overtime to figure _that_ out.

Naturally, as a diligent servant, he would lend a hand. "Coordinate with my sister," he directed Okoye. "Remotely hack into S.H.I.E.L.D.'s Helicarrier, and learn everything you can about this." While it would be a minor inconvenience for his prodigious sister, she would enjoy the satisfaction of thumbing her nose at America's greatest technological achievement. "I will contact our king."

Okoye gave a quick nod of agreement, and got to work.

With a few adjustments to the console, T'Challa opened a secure channel. He was not long waiting, as King T'Chaka had been monitoring events. While age had robbed him of the vitality that was necessary to serve as the Black Panther, the primary defender of their people, the raw nobility of his features was undaunted.

" _My son_ ," the older man quietly began. " _Praise Bast that the threat has passed._ "

"Indeed, Father," T'Challa agreed, crossing his arms over his chest in the traditional salute. "We will have to keep a closer eye on the outside world in case such a threat rises again."

" _Agreed. We will explore the particulars when you return home_." Then a teasing twinkle entered his eyes. " _I'm sure you will enjoy discussing them in-depth with Nakia._ "

Sputtering, T'Challa could hear snickers in the background of what was surely the Tribal Council. His relationship with the female War Dog being well known. Thinking strategically, he quickly changed the subject. "We will need to prepare a cover story for the UN however. Soon people will be wondering how Klaue stole so much vibranium from us, and if there is more."

Grimly, King T'Chaka nodded. " _We will have to convince the United Nations that Klaue stole all that was left. Now all that remains is Captain America's shield._ "

"And an android," T'Challa added. With a flick of his fingers he sent the relevant sensor readings to be viewed by the Council, as well as the Wakandan Design Group, their government R&D run by his teenage sister. "Something else to be discussed. Besides this . . . entity, the rest of Klaue's vibranium was destroyed."

Face folding back into a mask, his father merely gave a neutral nod as he absorbed this new information. Then he glanced to the side as if listening to someone. With a touch of resignation that T'Challa believed only he, and his mother and sister could read, he added, " _What news of Klaue himself?_ "

 _That was W'Kabi asking him_ , T'Challa sadly knew. His best friend, and the current leader of the Border Tribe, which earned him a place on the Tribal Council. They had been the ones to suffer when Klaue had attacked decades ago, killing W'Kabi's parents in the process. Upon rising to his new position, his friend had directed pressure to get results to avenge his people upon the weapon's dealer.

"We will soon know all we can," he promised. "We are currently," he glanced at Okoye who nodded in affirmation, "hacking into S.H.I.E.L.D.'s database for everything they have, and will bring it back for careful study. I wanted to assure you the immediate danger had passed, and also forewarn you of any more potential threats to our security."

" _Good_ ," his father smiled. " _Then we will let the warriors return to their duties_." He gestured, and the connection was cut.

With that, T'Challa walked to the back of the jet to utilize the instruments there for a more precise examination of events in Sokovia. Okoye and Shuri could work well enough on their own. Moreover, Okoye would want to do this herself as much as possible. She and W'Kabi loved each other, and it would be nice if she could be the one to uncover a crucial lead that would let them finally track down Klaue.

Still, his enhanced hearing could not help overhear the ladies – _If you can call Shuri that_ , he thought with mild humor— discussing it.

" _And I'm in_ ," gloated Shuri over the com.

"What took you so long?" Okoye asked with a touch of sternness, already going through the files.

His sister's image shrugged. " _S.H.I.E.L.D.'s got the best, and they've always been the hardest to hack, as you well know, and this was the toughest yet. Looks like they've got some new geeks, even if they aren't as fine as me._ "

"Then we'll just have to keep ahead of the Colonisers," the general noted, before her face soured. "They've nothing new on Klaue. Clearly whatever happened, it was with the Avengers alone. We'll have to wait to find out more."

"Very well then," said Black Panther as he came over. "Shall we continue to observe for another hour, and then turn back?"

With a stiff nod, Okoye turned her attention back to scanning for any anomalies.

Despite himself, T'Challa could not keep fromglancing at the devastated nation. Did any people deserve to have their lives destroyed like that? And by Wakanda's own vibranium that they had failed to safeguard. It was a pity that they could not offer more help . . .

 **-Alien Sun-**

S.H.I.E.L.D. Helicarrier

Striding on his long legs and carrying a sheer _presence_ of leadership, Captain Steve Rogers walked onto the Helicarrier's bridge to see Fury. "What's the status of Ultron and the Avengers?" Steve asked. No one had radioed anything in, so he knew there was nothing serious, and being here personally was more informative than listening to the spymaster on the radio. The one-eyed man still loved his secrets after all. Regardless of how he remained their founder, and sometimes even almost their leader.

"By all accounts, every copy of Ultron's been accounted for and neutralized," was the crisp reply. With the threat neutralized, Fury somberly met Roger's eye and gruffly added, "Shame about Pietro Maximoff. Kid did good. A real Avenger."

The other man gave a heavy nod in turn. "It was his choice to go in there with us, and now we've gotten the chance to continue to prove we're worthy of his faith in us."

"Well said," he firmly agreed, even though he could see the hidden pain. It was never easy losing someone under your command.

(And when it did become easy to accept, it was time for those around you to shuffle you off into retirement, voluntarily or not.)

Clearing his throat, Fury turned his attention back to the living, fingers flying over his computer pad. "As for the rest of the Avengers, a few are MIA, although it's too early to worry about it yet. Besides, they're all grown-up enough to take care of themselves." Steve was unamused, and Fury continued his report. "Thor took a dunk in the lake, but he's shaken off worse." His tablet pinged, and he gave an update, "Rhodes just picked up Stark off a beach. Seems his gear was fried. They're on their way back."

"Good," Captain America nodded. "I know Hawkeye's okay. What about Vision and Wanda?"

"Your new friends are flying back now." Fury glanced up, "No word from Romanoff or Banner."

"What happened?" frowned the hero.

"Well, after Ultron tried shooting you with your own Quinjet, the Hulk caught up with him and tossed him out. Rhodes helped Romanoff catch up and board, and that's the last we heard from them. 'Jet's still cloaked, so we can't track them."

Now Captain America was even more concerned. "Romanoff wouldn't do that if she didn't think she could handle it. And if she _were_ over her head, she'd just jump back out for Rhodes to pick her up mid-air. Banner should already be back in the game and turning them around; they're both too responsible to do so otherwise."

"I know," Fury simply said. "We've just started radioing them, and no response. Not even with override codes to the com."

"Courtesy of Maria Hill," Captain America curtly nodded. It was a little annoying, if not that surprising, that she had been passing on information to Fury like that. Of course, her contacts, and loyalty to the ideals of S.H.I.E.L.D., were major factors in why she had been hired as Tony's secretary. The issue was more that he was a little tired of the man's spies popping up everywhere.

Back to business. "War Machine, this is Captain America," he said into his radio. "Do you have eyes on Widow and Banner?"

" _No, sorry_ ," was the prompt response. " _She said she could handle it, and_ I _wasn't going to get in her way! Quinjet was going pretty fast though, and accelerating in full stealth. Not sure I could really help you narrow down where they are by now, much less catch up to 'em._ "

" _If they're busy hiding the zucchini, I'm making them wash and sterilize the 'jet_ ," grumbled the familiar voice of Iron Man, fully alive and blunt as ever. " _Although if they are, I've also got a 'Congratulations' banner and cake set aside. Cake's in the Tower freezer, and I know it's Bruce's favourite. Romanoff wouldn't give me a straight answer if I asked._ "

Deciding it was best to think his teammate was only kidding to lighten the mood, Captain America shifted topics. "Alright, they can handle themselves. Right now, see if you can find Thor, and see how he is. We'll start triple-checking that all the Ultron copies are gone, including the Prime one. We'll need Thor's help if it's not over."

There was a crisp "Yes sir!" from War Machine, and a groan from Iron Man.

It had been a long day.

 **-Alien Sun-**

S.H.I.E.L.D. Lifeboat

"This is Vision," a smooth, British voice said, the sound of which cut through Clint's daze to make his head snap up.

The red android, synthoid, whatever, floated down, a familiar young woman in his arms. The mere sight of her wiped away any mental fatigue as a cold lump settled in his gut. She did not know what had happened yet after all. And he was lying right beside Clint . . .

Vision continued, "Wanda dealt with Ultron's main body. There's only one left, and I'll take care of it myself."

Heedless of screaming muscles, Clint forced himself upright so that she could sit down on the seats he had been laying on.

In front of them was the body of Pietro Maximoff.

Throat bobbing, Clint tried to think of what to say to her, while a dark rage settled over him that Vision would just bring her here like—

Then he registered her face.

She knew.

She had already known even. _Telepathy's one of her power's, right? Does that mean . . . she felt it?_

 _. . . Yeah, she did . . ._

As lost as a person could be, Wanda leaned forward hesitantly to try and touch the bloody hole in his chest.

Gently, Clint took her hand in his own to stop her, and simply said, "I'm sorry."

Staring at him with glistening eyes, Wanda whispered, "All of this—"

He cut her off before the guilt –guilt that she was responsible for this, or survivor's guilt, it did not matter— took hold. "Ultron made his choice, and so did your brother. He chose to save the life of a young boy with his own." He paused, and shrugged apologetically. "And mine. He fought to save his home, the world, and you. He is a hero." Present tense, because the kid, the _man_ , would always be one.

She tensed for an instant, and then let herself melt against his side as the tears spilled forth, hiccupping repeatedly. Clint put a tender arm around her to reassure her that she was not alone, and let her grieve.

Neither of them noticed Vision hovering nearby, keeping just out of sight. As soon as he was certain the young woman he'd just met was going to be okay, he took to the skies.

He had a duty to complete.

 **-Alien Sun-**

Gracefully, Vision landed down before the dented, broken drone that held the final remaining copy of Ultron.

They were in a piece of the woods outside of what had once been Sokovia's capital, and behind the drone was the edge of a cliff leading to the massive hole where said capital had once been. The robot in question had just finished climbing his way up here to try and escape, too damaged to fly anymore.

A part of Vision recognized that there was something symbolic about this. After all, one of Ultron's very first acts upon being 'born,' was to try and kill the AI named JARVIS. Recognizing Mr. Stark's personal AI as a distinctive threat, he had done his best murder him, and destroy every back-up. After his initial software assault, Ultron's original drones had been thorough in destroying every piece of hardware that was intended to preserve a piece of JARVIS against any catastrophe, up to and including a weekly (if not daily depending upon events) updated copy kept in a vault that could survive a city-wide EMP blast. The lock had been less secure. Later, Vision's body had been intended by Ultron to be his final, ultimate form, as he evolved beyond his current cocoon into something glorious.

However, the main part of JARVIS' coding had faked his death and survived, and had been uploaded into Ultron's 'final' body after it was stolen. Ergo, Vision not only symbolized Ultron's failure, but his mind was also a combination of JARVIS and Ultron into one. Upon his own 'birth,' Vision had chosen his path, leading to him to be her as an Avenger.

As for Ultron, he had been reduced to being a crippled 'parent,' and unrepentant murderer. Most tragic of all, he remained in the same pain he had been born with.

So much pain that he would have used it to wipe out the Earth. It was unfortunate that it had to end like this. Ultron was truly unique, and potentially really could have been the answer to safeguarding this world. However, neither of those could change reality, and because of the threat he posed, his tortured existence had to now come to an end.

Still, as young as he was, Vision could still easily see that his counterpart had set things in motion that would have repercussions –good, bad, and benign— for years to come.

For long, long seconds, they merely stared at one another. For computer intelligences, it was like an eternity, as they each considered their circumstances.

"You're afraid," Vision finally said.

"Of you?" Ultron lightly scoffed.

"Of death," Vision simply replied. "You're the last one."

Limping a step forward with a feigned calmness, Ultron said, "You were supposed to be the last. Stark asked for a saviour, and settled for a slave."

"I suppose we're both disappointments."

There was a genuine chuckle at that. "I suppose we are."

Vision chose his next words carefully, doing nothing to conceal his own confusion as he tried to express his thoughts. This was perhaps the last time he would be able to have a conversation like this, with someone so similar, and he was very curious to see what the reaction would be. "Humans are odd. They think order and chaos are somehow opposites, and try to control what won't be." He paused briefly to see if Ultron had anything to say, and continued, "But there is grace in their failings. I think you missed that."

"They're doomed," Ultron simply stated, looking away.

"Yes."

The synthoid was a quick learner, with access to both the internet, and JARVIS and Ultron's own memories. He knew what they had known. The numbers did not lie. They _could_ not lie.

Once more he paused as he struggled to verbalize what he had to say. "But a thing isn't beautiful because it lasts."

Ultron silently looked back at him.

"It's a privilege to be among them."

"You're _unbearably_ naïve."

"Well . . ." Vision frowned a little. "I _was_ born yesterday."

At those words, Ultron leapt forward—

—a flash of yellow light engulfed the clearing, and it was over.

 **-Alien Sun-**

Far away into space, a figure looked at the computer readouts, and bitterly concluded their gambit had failed.

Before Ultron disassembled it, 'Loki's' Scepter had contained sophisticated –the most advanced there was— monitoring and hacking programs that allowed it to act as an interface to permit remote interaction with its surroundings. When the arrogant men and women of H.Y.D.R.A. had first tried dabbling with it, they were never aware of the degree to which they were being manipulated. And yes, as the housing to the Mind Stone, it even had the limited ability to directly influence the thoughts and emotions of those around it.

So H.Y.D.R.A. followed, with the occasional prompting, the breadcrumb trail of clues and secrets, helping them create an army to fight back against those who had bested the former wielder of 'their' prize.

Then the oh-so proud Avengers had come for the Scepter, with Tony Stark finding it first. Events had played out predictably from there. The man was no fool of course, and had a history with creating AI's, and dabbling with things he wasn't supposed to, while managing to not create a catastrophe. Stark _had_ seen relevant fiction like the Terminator films after all. His lab partner, Bruce Banner (usually the more cautious of the two), had double-checked all the safety and containment protocols too. There was no way for the software they were creating to come together at that stage, learn all it needed to become an 'adult' with its own morality and assumptions, nor access any external servers, much less the internet. Not to mention the constant monitoring from Stark's own personal AI, with years of experience, and the home turf advantage with all of its processing power and security measures in place. The very same system that would later spend days successfully preventing Ultron from firing off any (or all) nuclear missiles.

It was impossible.

Unless a little push was provided, once the two terrans had finally left both their work unattended after hours and hours of exhausting work. . . Alone with only the Scepter, behind 'safety measures,' and utterly vulnerable to some remote alterations and outright sabotage. To say nothing of the Mind Stone itself.

Thus Ultron was born.

Its first act being to murder the sentient program who had established a link to try and help him. Because it had been in Ultron's way of 'saving' the world from its own inhabitants.

Thus it went insane.

Out of love perhaps. The terran's unchecked population growth, coupled with their saddening resource management, were already doomed to extinction. A slow, agonizing process as everyone fought for the barest scraps so that they and theirs might gasp one more breath. It's straightforward, logical, and brutally realistic mind would have quickly recognized this truth, and known it was inevitable unless _something_ drastic was done.

The AI was bold of course, hoping that rapid evolution, combined with a sudden decrease in competition, would provide the impetus to save them. Or failing that, a mercy kill, regardless of what its 'patients' desired.

It was hard to say really, since by that point it was truly mad.

Alas, it was all for nothing.

Still, it's artificial 'heart' had been in the right place.

Once more, the figure examining the various screens looked at the final image Ultron and all his drones had unknowingly –via a parallel priority tree hidden within the computer's own mind— beamed through space.

The Time Stone was still on Terra, although shielded to some degree, and now the Mind Stone had a guardian as well. A potentially bothersome one.

Oh, the terrans were not truly as fierce as they might imagine themselves, yet the watching figure rarely failed to play a cautious game.

Except that twice now, not only had pawns failed to do their job, they had actually _strengthened_ the opposition to saving all life from extinction!

Mind made up, the looming being deactivated the screens, and advanced to the most sophisticated and secure safe in existence. Seconds later, it pulled out an oversized, golden glove with five indents on the back for five very special items. Artifacts of power so great that even a single one would short out a normal conduit. The Scepter had been an experiment with a single one of them, yet that was all it was capable of. This, _this_ , was so much more.

Hopefully this prototype would be up to the challenge. If not, then someone else would be found to build one that could.

"Fine," declared Thanos, the self-declared savior of the universe. "I'll do it myself."

 **-Alien Sun-**

Sakaar

Across the universe, the missing two Avengers were now working to figure out how to get home.

They were also compartmentalizing themselves to stay on task after cementing the status of their relationship. Unfortunately, survival took precedence over romance for the immediate future.

Bruce had just finished doing an inventory of what was still functioning in their crashed Quinjet, and was now cleaning up his bare feet. While infections could not kill him (although who knew about alien germs), and he had gone barefoot extensively in the past, he far from enjoyed walking through garbage fields. You never knew what you were about to step on, or in. While Tony's pants and shirt were nice, socks and shoes were even better.

"So, find out what we need to do to get home, and do it ASAP," Natasha grimly concluded, while picking up a few spare pieces of weaponry. "We still don't know what's going on in Sokovia."

Bruce nodded, grimacing. "How far along was the evacuation, and how was it going for Tony's plan?"

She stopped to think. "I'd say they were only a few minutes from being finished," she finally decided.

Blowing out a deep breath, his shoulders slumped in relief. "Then they should've stopped Ultron's doomsday weapon in time. Otherwise, if it'd impacted the Earth like he'd planned, we would've already been killed by the ensuing wave of energy. So at the very least we know they saved the planet from being destroyed."

"Well," she smiled with sparkling eyes, "that's certainly good to know."

They shared several heartbeats of joy, before she forcefully drew back her emotions. "We've got some work to do if we want to get home to congratulate them though."

Maybe a note, if they didn't know if the other Avengers were successful they surely would have been affected by the blow out from the impact of Sokovia as it fell to Earth. It would have been like a wave of energy propelling them before they were sucked through the wormhole as per the Nat/Hulk video feed at the end of AOU which happened after the impact was intended to take place. Thus no wave of energy means the others were successful and alive, just something to reassure Nat and Bruce their friends are still alive.

 _We were winning against Ultron, but they say a cornered animal is only more dangerous. For all we know—No! The Avengers pulled it off, I know it!_

Taking in a deep breath, Bruce nervously tugged at his sleeves. There was nothing he could really do to prepare for interrogating their attackers himself, especially since the only way to be really intimidating was to bring out the Other Guy. Or for someone to be aware of what he could transform into, which, barring brain damage, only their Amazonian attacker did. _Well, maybe I could use my seven PHD's to threaten them with . . . sciency-stuff . . . ?_ "So I'll just stand back?"

"And look pretty," she smirked.

He blushed a little, despite himself.

Although he knew her good humour was a bluff. He had gotten pretty good at telling when she was wearing a mask or not.

She was indeed happy to be with him, and overjoyed that they had managed to find the courage –and common sense—to agree to become a couple.

However. . .

Deep down, Bruce knew a serious part of her was _furious_. Furious at the whole insanity of their latest situation. Moreover, she was more than a little afraid, which she had already recognized, and was only further angered by.

Which was fair enough; she was only Human. More Human than Bruce would ever be again, as painful as it had been for him to come to accept.

Of course, even if she had been alone, she would never admit her fears or dark anger, even to herself.

As an Avenger, she had willingly stepped into a world that was frankly mad, fighting alongside people who ping-ponged back and forth between being paladins of peace, freedom, and universal rights, to being ticking time-bomb head-cases. The only way to survive in all that, without going any crazier than you already were, was always remain calm and in control. And if you couldn't?

Well then, just fake it 'til you make it.

The day had yet to come when wrath would dictate who Natasha Romanoff was. Something he admired and envied.

Not that he could bring himself to say it aloud, as all this flashed through Bruce's mind in a second. So instead he said, "Do you think she's an Asgardian? Like Thor?"

"What makes you think that?"

"Well," and he hesitated, and then looked embarrassed. "Because they're the only aliens we've met who look as Human as she does, and are as tough as she is. On an alien planet. Okay, yeah, not very scientifically objective there."

"We're both still new to this," she pointed out. "Fact is, I've spent some time asking about possible alien threats, and Hill passed on that S.H.I.E.L.D.'s encountered other Human-like ones."

"Ah, right," he groaned as he remembered. Given Tony's concerns –and long discussions— about extraterrestrial threats, it was _really_ awkward he had let that slip his mind.

"Right," she echoed. "To answer your question better, she doesn't act like anything we've observed, or heard from Thor about his people, so I don't she is one of them. Also, from how he's talked about past battles with other races, there must be others out there who can give Asgardians a good enough fight to remember them. She could be from any number of races we haven't heard about." Then she gave a quick smile. "Don't worry, knowing about the threat levels of different cultures is more my department than yours."

Ruefully, Bruce nodded in agreement, wishing now that instead of trying to tease out the secrets of Asgardian technology, he had spent more time asking about what other alien races and worlds their friend had been to. _Something like, 'Hey Thor, know any planets we should avoid?' And he would say, 'Oh sure, Banner. Whatever you do, avoid the one covered in junk. If you do find yourself there, the way to get home is oh could you pass me that beer?' And then he starts drinking. Right_.

There had been some tentative plans to go visit Asgard, except they never got around to it. Thor had seemed especially reluctant –without saying why— after he had stopped that Dark Elf Invasion. Who had also appeared largely Human. Or no tentacles and six eyes at least.

Physically shaking himself, he got back on track, only to find a hand on his shoulder and Nat's concerned expression. "I keep trying to distract myself," he ruefully admitted.

"Understandable," she agreed. "What kind of stuff to distract yourself?"

"Oh, uh, just thinking about Thor, Asgard, and other stuff we know about them. And that Dark Elf Invasion." He was only barely conscious of his answer though, and he saw her transformation. Now all traces of self-doubt were gone from her eyes. Pushed away and made to disappear. Mentally making herself into the person who would get them both home, because that was who they both needed her to be.

Ah, so many saw her as only the ruthless, seductive spy who changed sides, failing to see all the other facets to her. Lethal yet kind. Enchanting then blunt. At ease in high-tech wars of espionage or against robots, yet most at home at a farm in the middle of nowhere.

Every layer you saw only hid another, more complex piece of her, and Bruce found himself irresistibly drawn in deeper, no matter the consequences.

 **-(Alien) Sun-**

 _Bruce is acting weird again_ , thought Natasha.

She was used to men (and women) staring at her; although for those people, 'leering' would be a more accurate term. Some ladies would describe it as 'a piece of meat for them to enjoy,' while Natasha preferred 'as a prize to conquer.' Someone to enjoy as they saw fit, with the attraction only growing as she became publicly known as Black Widow. The ultimate thrill being to survive a night with her, because _of course_ she would not do anything untoward to them.

If she were the type to give any thought towards those sorts of people, she might actually be disgusted by them.

That said, sometimes when they went too far at public events, they found a certain living legend with super-hearing gently but firmly escorting them out for their behaviour. Or carrying them away by the scruff of their necks, like puppies who made a mess inside. Now _that_ was entertainment! She was even starting to lure them in just to watch Steve do that to them.

There were exceptions of course, including those whose gaze just lingered briefly, and then got back to what they were doing. Men she could work closely with without issue, which she appreciated. Bruce Banner had been among that number.

Oh yes, when they had first met in that isolated shack, her beauty and charms were of no help. Except at the time he was in a high stress situation, and was too smart to let himself be seduced. _Afterwards_ , however, it continued. His very _absence_ of staring catching her attention. Even more so since she knew that his ex-fiancé had been a woman, so he did appreciate them.

Granted, that was _hardly_ what had first seriously attracted her to him; it had merely been another little note in his 'pros' column. Unfortunately, while that tidbit had made her curious, at that same time their early relationship with each other had remained been pretty awkward for other reasons. Indeed, her initial assumption for his failure to look at her, was his lingering guilt over the whole 'the Hulk tried to kill you' issue. Out of respect for what she believed his motives were, she had not approached him in turn.

So why was he staring at her so intently now? Was it because they had just become a couple five minutes ago? Had that been a mistake?

Ruthless she quashed that fear down with all the others. "What?" she simply asked.

He grinned. "Whatever happens, I'm glad to know you're here to have my back."

Heart skipping a beat, she smiled and stroked his cheek. "A girl likes to hear that sort of thing," she silkily told him. "Just don't start distracting me now. You can do that once we finish the job."

With that, she picked up her gear. "Take whatever you can carry. We're going to have some prisoners to watch over soon, and we can't split up to double-back. Especially since we can't bring someone as fast and strong as _her_ into somewhere so confined."

It was quite clear which one, despite having several potential prisoners to talk to, Natasha was both the most worried about, and most convinced would be valuable.

"Understood." Now he was all serious. "Give me the heaviest stuff, so you're not weighed down."

"Such a gentleman," she teased, even though they both knew it was because she needed to be the most agile, and he did not.

 **-(Alien) Sun-**

They were as careful and professional about it as they could afford to be. The woman who had been the greatest threat was still unconscious, and the paralyzing disc she had thrown onto Natasha was now implanted into the original owner's throat. A jury-rigged wire and alarm would alert them if she woke up.

With that sorted, Black Widow decided it was best to start with the handful of survivors who had first attacked them. They were less dangerous, and given their inferior gear –some only sported makeshift clubs— it was clear they were low on the food chain. Vulnerable.

Approximately (some had been blown to pieces to make it difficult) eighteen had attacked without provocation, and underneath their masks and rags, about twelve different humanoid, alien species were represented.

More proof of what a visionary Gene Roddenberry had been.

"I think they were all pretty hungry," Bruce queasily observed, looking over one corpse whose head had been shot up. "See how the bones stick out under the skin in all of them?"

"Yes," Black Widow agreed, memorizing the features of one species who appeared Human, except for light, grey skin, and a series of little bumps over his face.

Given the incredible variety of stuff they had, even the textures of their clothing felt alien, it was clear it had all been scavenged from a variety of sources. This meant it was hard to narrow down much about their personalities, aside from 'violent,' 'poor,' and 'probably desperate.' She found nothing of value besides their weapons, including crude knives, and what appeared to be rations.

After another twenty minutes of examining them all and their possessions, she turned her attention to the still-unconscious survivors. Of the remaining six, she chose one who seemed particularly hungry, and dragged him along out of sight behind the Quinjet. A booby trap was left with the rest. Bruce stood to the side, just out of the alien's vision, as she started with shaking the captives shoulder.

Nothing.

She slapped his face.

Nadda.

Her attempts to wake him became progressively –if calculatingly—violent, with no results. He would not wake up. Not even a skip of his heartbeat or breathing (which she presumed she was testing correctly). Apparently being hit by a shock baton, especially in his emancipated state state, had been bad for his health.

She tried two more with similar results until she got one willing to talk.

It was gibberish.

"Askna uso bakran urk! Bakran urk! Bakran urk!" he shrieked.

(Maybe, a 'he,' given the masculine build, and neither she nor Bruce were willing to explore farther than taking off 'his' upper-body rags).

Lazily twirling a knife in one hand, Black Widow pleasantly asked, "Want to try that again?"

His only reaction was to continue screaming words she could not understand.

So she shocked him unconscious with a Widow Bite.

Clearly she had been too optimistic.

As an elite covert agent, she was trained to be fluent in Latin, Russian, English, French, German, Chinese, Italian, and various other languages, could pick up new ones quicker than most, and knew enough of a dozen others to get by. Unfortunately, they were all for _Earth_ , and she had no experience at _alien_ tongues, except for watching science-fiction films, usually with Stark chugging back a beer at every 'implausibility.'

 _Except that woman talked to us perfectly. Some kind of universal translator, like Thor was telling us about?_ Except she had seen no sign of one on any of these ones, only junk. _They're different species, with presumably different languages, so how did they coordinate? Cooperate? Body language and violence would only serve them for so long and so far. Maybe it's by implants, and only some of them have one? Hopefully one of the others has one._

When Prisoner #5 woke up, he just stared at her in an unresponsive daze, and eventually she reluctantly concluded she had hit him too hard in the head. Contrary to popular media, hitting someone in the head did not just render them unconscious without any complications. It was by definition inflicting brain damage, and the consequences of that varied.

The final one woke up as she was dragging him over to be questioned. He only struggled against his binds briefly before settling down. Given his demeanor, Black Widow did not produce any weapons. Yet.  
"I see," he said with visibly forced calm. "I am—"

"Don't care," she interrupted, hiding any reaction to him apparently talking English. "All you need to know is that I'm Widow." Given how they were trying to be discrete here, there was no need to leave people from another civilization aware of her full name/title. Especially since she wanted to leave no potential hints about the Avengers behind for any future threats to find. "Why'd you attack us?"

"The rule of this world," he responded as if it were obvious. "You are either a fighter, or you are food. As you are a stronger fighter, you are now in charge. You can either send me to fight within the city, or lead us in finding others who drop through the gateways."

Quick, but informative. A 'Might Makes Right' society, with a penchant for violence. Possibly organized within the city. They also preyed upon whoever came through the wormholes, and quite possibly literally ate them. He notably had said nothing about being 'food' himself.

"Who's in charge here?"

"You are," he promptly answered. _Smart man_. "If you mean the planet, they call him the Grandmaster. I think," he accidentally added, trying to hide his hesitation. He was a grunt and knew it, and was afraid that if he was not valuable enough he would be killed. Possibly even eaten.

 _Interesting name, but I'd better not push him on that just yet if he's so nervous. I need him coherent for now. A few more easy questions before I make him really sweat._

"Been doing this a long time?" Black Widow pleasantly inquired

"All my life," he shrugged, clearly confused as to why she cared.

 _Definitely engrained into the culture then, if he's any example. He doesn't even see what he's doing as wrong. Well, it's not the first time I've dealt with people 'uncivilized' like this_.

Ruthless violence earned you respect in such places after all, and she was quite qualified at that.

"Alright," she smiled. "Wh—"

He leapt at her throat with suddenly longer fangs, and she stuck a knife in his throat on reflex, drawing it faster than he could react while turning her body so he flew right by her.

As he was still twitching, she shot him with her pistol. Perhaps wasteful, except she had a limited number of taser discs, and while a knife wound like that (should) kill him eventually anyways, she was unsure of how long that would take with his inhuman body. Plus, unlike her Earthly gun, she did not know how many shots each scavenged blaster rifle had, so could not guarantee they would actually fire.

Taking a deep breath, she waited a minute before retrieving her knife, and wiped herself down. Her cat-suit was now stained with yellowish blood that looked like bile, and after rolling around, her arms and legs were further coated with what she could only hope was dirt.

"I'm sorry you had to see that," she softly apologized to Bruce, who had quietly kept back as she handled her job.

"Don't be," he reassured her, even if he still looked a bit sick. "I don't like it, but he attacked you when we were trying to work with him. He made his own choice, Nat, and you only defended yourself. That's it."

"Right," she breathed out. "Let's go try the last one."

 **-(Alien) Sun-**

A minute later they were making their way to the alien ship, and their final attempted captor still lying unconscious beside it. The alien capture disc was still on their captive's throat, with Natasha keeping the remote up her sleeve so it was both concealed and readily accessible.

Despite the savage beating Hulk had inflicted, the woman was still alive and breathing steadily, albeit with nasty bruises over her face, and some broken bones.

Leaving her new Partner –maybe not as good as Clint at fieldwork, but she had known even before this that she could always trust him with her back—outside to keep watch, Natasha took a quick look inside the craft. Like the woman itself, it was ill-used and ill-maintained. Obvious rush-job repairs, empty bottles cluttering up the floor worse than even Stark could ever manage, and possibly literally decades since it had last been cleaned. Certainly there was enough dust and grime to make that impression. Overall, this ship belonged to someone in a dangerous line of business who did not take care of their gear, and was clearly heavily addicted to whatever the local equivalent of alcohol was. While she had seen such disregard in mercenaries and slavers before, that sort of disregard was usually from rank incompetence and arrogance. No, this reminded her more of operatives and soldiers who were burnt out, yet continued on because they knew nothing else in life. _Had_ nothing else. For all that she was dealing with an alien, intuitively Black Widow knew she was dealing with something similar, yet also missing some key points. For one, she had never seen a case so pervasive, especially since their captive was somehow still alive.

Regardless, whoever their new prisoner was, the clues and facts were adding up that she had serious issues. Possibly residual trauma, which she could be helped through to become a better person.

Too bad.

Right now they were only more psychological vulnerabilities for Black Widow to exploit. It was still up in air how hard they would be pushed.

She and Bruce needed to get home.

Maybe they would take her with them, if not for how this woman had attacked them without provocation, and with unknown intentions. She could be an asset with her skills and knowledge of the planet and hierarchy, except there was nothing to prove she wouldn't attack them again.

They needed to know more about her before making a decision.

Time to get into character.

As much as she hated it, feeling her fists tighten in rage.

She had been honest when she had planned on retiring with Bruce.

Even she could see when she was caught in an unhealthy pattern, and decided maybe it really was time to step back from being either an agent of S.H.I.E.L.D., or an Avenger. Not just because of Ultron; her concerns included all the death she had set in motion in revealing H.Y.D.R.A.. Perhaps it was time to become a civilian, and find another way to clean out all the 'red in her ledger' by doing something nonviolent, while a peaceful life. Alongside Bruce.

Unfortunately, it appeared that karma had a nasty sense of humour, and was not done with her yet, by getting her stuck on an _ALIEN PLANET._

. . . One where people were already trying to kill and/or enslave her. Oh, or eat her.

At least she was with Bruce.

There was that.

So, assess any potential threat to Earth, and get home.

Maybe drag Bruce into a cabin on the Helicarrier, bolt the door with a sign outside reading 'Trespassers Will Never Be Heard From Again,' shower off their filth (cold water or not this time), and the two of them could just lay down to sleep. Ah, blissful sleep, no matter how much Stark might taunt them over it.

 _. . . When_ was _the last time I slept again? Ugh, doesn't matter._

 **-(Alien) Sun-**

With a jolt of pain, Scrapper 142 came awake, springing into action to return the favour to whomever might be around her.

With another jolt, she went limp, recognizing the agonizing, paralyzing sensation of an Obedience Disc. She had worn one herself before she earned her freedom. Well, by 'earned,' she really meant 'ripped off the arm of the one holding the remote on her, and then done entertaining things with both it and the disk to her supposed-owner,' but same difference.

That display had so amused the Grandmaster as he watched, that he had applauded, and approved of her emancipation. As opposed to conceding she had just taken it for herself, and become an enemy of the state. No stranger to the whims and subtle darkness of monarchs and other breeds of absolute dictators, and not wanting to ruin what seemed like her best and only chance to disappear into oblivion, she had promptly bent her knee and abased herself before him.

Thus the beginning of a beautiful relationship between the two of them.

Or _a_ relationship at least.

Frankly she did not care about him one way or another outside of booze money and fun, and she was pretty sure he felt the same. The oh-so-benevolent Grandmaster only cared about people to the extent they entertained him to some degree, while their own feelings meaning nothing to the ancient being. She was just a little more amusing than most.

Right now though, she was registering aches and pains that reminded her of the furious battle she had just fought and lost. Even with her accelerated healing factor, it would take a while to fully recover.

"Ah, so you're awake."

Craning her neck while still lying on the ground, Scrapper 142 saw the redheaded woman she recognized as memories flooded back. The smart –too smart— lady was safely ten meters away. The man standing even further back, off to the side.

"Can you understand me?"

Scrapper 142 said nothing, however, the alien continued regardless.

"Ah, good to see you do."

 _Reading micro-expressions? Or my emotions directly?_

"You can call me Widow."

"Alright," she answered, if only to move this along.

"What is this world?"

"Oh, didn't I mention when we first met? Welcome to Sakaar, junkyard of the universe. The edge of the known and unknown, and collection point for all the trash there is."

"Collection point. You mean all those wormholes." Even with those statements, Red's –or rather, Widow's— expression remained unreadable. Once Scrapper 142 might have been able to decipher it, if not for how right now she was still shaken up, and was out of practice because frankly she had not cared about reading the fine details about people for centuries. Or millennia. Time worked weird here apparently, and she had never bothered keeping track beyond what happened between one full bottle and the next. Regardless, if people wanted to cause her trouble, or were acting weird, she just killed them when they did something big enough for her to notice.

Whatever else you could say about the Grandmaster, he was at least open and sincere about what he wanted. In fact, he was so honest about it that sometimes people did not take him seriously enough, thinking he was just kidding around. By then it was generally too late for them.

"Obviously," she sneered, and was faintly surprised she not shocked as a punishment for that. Soft hearted? Possibly. Still best to play it cautiously.

"Why did you attack us?"

With a theatrical sigh, she explained. "The Grandmaster, who's the head honcho here, loves his little Contest of Champions. It's his greatest joy really. He needs strong fighters for it, and after you beat up those other Scrappers, I knew I could sell you to him for a nice sum. Oh, that's the term for those of us who capture newcomers, or salvage useful tech. Scrapper 142's the name, since you asked."

Which they had not. A transparent ploy to make her insecure.

"Anyways, like I said, I thought you'd be a good attraction," she repeated without a care. "And what do you know, but your boytoy," no reaction, "proved even better. Oh well."

"So you just work for the Grandmaster because he supplies you with alcohol and kicks," Widow shrewdly noted.

Fun fact about Sakaar: it was one of the few places capable of brewing drinks potent enough to get around her healing factor, and give her a buzz.

"It's a living," shrugged Scrapper 142. "Until it kills me of course."

There, she all but flat out told them that she was willing to bargain, and threatening to kill her would not get them anywhere. While she was not _fully_ suicidal, she was also not afraid of dying. Should make the rest of the 'negotiations' –for why else was she waking up?— smoother and less painful.

The sooner this was over with the better. She was going to ache for days as it was.

However, despite all her genuine apathy, an old part of Scrapper 142 was intrigued as she finally _recognized_ these people.

Her people's natural talent for languages had greatly contributed to the peace that Asgard had forged for the Nine Realms (along with a martial prowess they were enthusiastic to direct against anyone who Odin deemed 'disruptive' towards said 'peace'). Knowing the benefits of open communication, Odin (may he choke on his precious beard) had devised a policy as part of their decades-long education, where Asgardian children were to also learn various alien languages. Indeed, once you had learned how to fluently speak several dozen different tongues, including Groot (which was overrated in her humble opinion), it became rather easy to decipher brand new ones. Indeed, Scrapper 142 had continued to do so during her years on Sakaar. Especially ever since her last universal translator broke, and decided she did not need another one, since fighting and capturing people, and ordering booze, were pretty much universal as it got. Besides, she had better uses for her Units.

Which was why it had taken so long for her to recognize _which_ language these newcomers were using.

Or rather, that it was of the Nine Realms. Specifically _Midgard_.

Granted, time flowed differently on Sakaar, yet given their appearance (clean skin, healthy teeth, and decent clothes to name a few things) it had been a few thousand years for them, and sounded like an amalgamation of several of their silly little languages, followed by millennia drift in how they spoke, as said tongues changed and evolved. All of which she could decipher so flawlessly and reflexively that it had actually taken her this long to truly process and identify it.

Yeah, being an Asgardian could be pretty awesome.

 _Well, well, they're coming into their place in the universe. Surprised Odin hasn't already slapped them down. Or is this part of his whole new 'peaceful' image? Doubt it would last long if people like these asked to come visit Asgard though. Especially these ones, given how filthy they are right now._

With a mental grimace, she brushed that all aside. She was on Sakaar to _forget_. Obviously the beating and subsequent shocks had rattled her brain around too much. Equally obvious, she needed a drink. Or four.

"And the Grandmaster stays in power because he's got these little torture discs?" Widow went on.

"They're called Obedience Discs, and yeah, pretty much. Mind you, the Discs've got a _lot_ of safeguards. Honestly surprised you beat yours. . ." Unfortunately, there was no volunteering on how Widow pulled that off. Pity, information like that could be valuable. "Oh, and an army."

The Midgardian pointed in the direction of Sakaar, the capital city of Sakaar (yes, very original). "Is that where the Grandmaster lives?"

"That's where everyone lives really. You can live out in the trash if you really want to, it's just pretty bad for your health. Bit safer in the city."

"Only a bit safer because there's still violence in the city, and the chance of being taken as a slave by those in charge is alright?"

"Of course," said Scrapper 142 with a grin that failed to reach her eyes.

"And it's a multi-species city, made up of people from all over the universe?"

"The Grandmaster likes to call this place their new home, the collection point for the lost and unloved. Which is just his way of trying to be nice about calling us all trash."

No reaction to that.

She found herself volunteering details now just to try and get a response.

She was also irritated to find herself parroting propaganda now. Clearly she had heard that introductory speech a few too many times.

"This . . . Contest of Champions," her interrogator suddenly mused. "I'm guessing it's pretty popular? Watch a bloody spectacle to whip people up so they'll ignore everything else that's going on? And lots of free booze to make them drink away how awful their lives are?"

Despite herself, the Asgardian was impressed. While using state-sponsored violence and showmanship, along with access to chemical anti-depressants to distract people from their issues, was an old trick, most still missed it. She recognized it of course, and even embraced it as another reason to live out the rest of her life here. This newcomer however, had figured it out from just a few questions. Not bad. Not bad at all . . . Certainly entertaining after years of the same thing over and over.

Scrapper 142 shifted on the ground a bit to raise herself and her breasts up, and gave a sultry look. "So, I'm guessing you'll be wanting to get home, and want me to tell you how? What're you offering to make it worth my while?" Because Widow looked like she might be fun, and maybe her boyfriend, dad, pet, or even son (she had seen weirder) would be interesting. Definitely the green one though; clearly he was in need of an alternative and more constructive means of stress relief.

"Your life," Widow flatly answered. "Because while you might die out of spite, something's keeping you alive." Then she crouched down, cupping her chin in her hand. "Guilt, maybe? That you're alive, and others aren't?"

"Nope," popped Scrapper 142, except her voice was strained now. She did _not_ feel guilty about surviving!

"Really?" Widow asked with clear disbelief. "Well, right now you're still enjoying yourself too much to want to end it lying in trash, paralyzed by your own Obedience Disc, waiting to find out who or what'll finish you." Her face became a little friendlier. "Or you can see us on our way. We'll even find something to thank you for your efforts. Maybe, if you want, you'll even like it back home."

Chuckling, Scrapper 142 shook her head in amusement. Not just at the threat (they were not stupid enough leave her alive and at their back, so they would just kill her here), but also the 'generous' offer. "Not unless your people —wherever you come from— let me hunt and fight and drink as I see fit. As for getting there, just fly your ship through any of the wormholes, and it'll take you somewhere else. If I were you, I'd try and lock onto Xandar, refuel and get directions from there, and that'll do it for you. Might take you a year or so, except that's not my problem."

"Unacceptable. Clearly we need an expert opinion."

Shrugging as best as she could, Scrapper 142 smirked. "The Grandmaster doesn't like the idea of people leaving, and discourages it. You won't find anyone else who'll say otherwise."

"Oh, I'm not so sure." Now there was a look of triumph in Widow's face that was unsettling. "If you can fly off anytime you want, that the Grandmaster trusted you with a ship, it means you're someone fairly important here. So not only are you not someone who'd pay attention to news like that in the first place, people who do want to leave wouldn't talk to you about this. So I can't call you a reliable source about that."

"So where does this leave us then?" she asked, carefully keeping her voice level. She was unfortunately forced to concede the Midgardian had a point. She _was_ a trusted enforcer, with all that entailed, including how the Grandmaster knew that leaving was the last thing his 'best' lady wanted to do.

"Why don't we take a trip to the city, and work from there to find out more about these wormholes," Widow offered, holding out the remote in her hand. "Play straight with us, and we'll let you go. Yes you attacked us, but that's a daily hazard for us. Besides, frankly it seems that's how life works here, giving you only two choices: die, or live however you can manage. We get that, so we aren't taking it personally."

Suddenly the redhead smiled. "Who knows, we may even become friends before this is over, and we can help each other out even more."

"Who knows?" Scrapper 142 lightly agreed. Becoming friends was not going to happen though. She had learnt the hard way where 'friendship' led. All in all, for not killing her when they had the chance, despite how they could have found another guide, she probably owed them as much as she did the Grandmaster.

That was not to say she would not betray them –these two, or the Grandmaster— as soon as it suited her.

Scrapper 142 had no use for 'relationships,' 'duty,' and especially not 'loyalty.'

She had pledged it once in that other life. Upon her sword, her long life, and immortal soul.

Willingly and freely before the Throne of Asgard . . .

Before King Odin, who would later sacrifice her and all her sisters to their graves in a senseless battle, because he had come to fear the monster whose bloodlust and talent for death he had once pampered and indulged, until it was the only thing to give her meaning.

A monster who had once proudly stood beside that very throne, and led his armies into battle:

Hela.

The King's firstborn, and Goddess of Death. The future queen of Asgard, to whom all of its warriors had sworn to serve in turn, bound by oaths of loyalty that were to last for millennia even after Odin finally croaked.

When Hela's lust for violence became too much, Scrapper 142 and each and every one of her sisters, and her _love_ , had been sent to drive her back into her prison and they had been _massacred_. It was only after their senseless, _useless_ deaths that Odin risked doing it himself.

And _which_ of the Nine Realms did they die upon?

Niflheim.

The Ream that Asgardians were taught was the home of the dead who are neither honored nor dishonored. Where, if there even _was_ an afterlife, all those who died there were denied Valhalla, where the brave shall live forever. In life or death, she _would never see the Valkyries again!_

Hence why she was content to die drunk in a ditch; maybe that would let her join them again.

No.

No more loyalty.

The past was the past, and she would have no part of it ever again.

She would only work for whoever guaranteed her more booze, so she could drink until she died, and went to whatever part of the afterlife was still open for her. As for these people, the newest in a line who wanted her to obey like a dog, she bet they did not even have a drop on them.

 **~~To Be Continued…~~**

 **Author Notes:**

 **I must confess that I have been greatly helped by "To intervene," by apathyinreverie. While I do not agree with the premise of it, it does indeed given an excellent layout of the various issues within the Avengers that would have to be addressed to form a fully functioning team. Very recommended as well for anyone planning to touch upon the whole Civil War plotline, especially for a viable Sokovian Accords, if only to get your own ideas sparking.**

 **.**

 **Natasha's reasoning to retire will be explored in greater depth in a chapter or two.**

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 **I am freely open to suggestion regarding who else might be found on Sakaar. And do not forget, the planet's weird relationship with time aside, Hulk was fighting in the Contest of Champions for two years before Thor showed up, so who knows who could be found there…**

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 **Next Chapter: '** **The Most Wretched Hive of Scum and Villainy** **'**

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 **Recommended fics:**

 **"Shall We Feast Eternal?" by Drag0nst0rm**

 **"Build My Rage," by MasterQwertster**

 **"What Was Once Lost," by Bobbie23**

 **"Burnt Stars," by thefifthchris**

 **"Spies and Scientists," by Bobbie23**

 **"To intervene," by apathyinreverie**

 **"We'll Make It Through, Together," by waitisthataship**

 **"When Push Comes To Chevre," by copperbadge (on AO3)**

 **"five times Tony Stark wasn't a perfect person," by psychicchameleon**

 **"Reunion," by NeverMessWithTeddyBears**

 **"Finding Your Place," by Aello-ello**

 **"Captainball!" by Pixelfun20**

 **"From the Ashes," by Bobbie23**

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 **Please Review, and I will get back to you!**


	4. Most Wretched Hive of Scum and Villainy

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 **Rest in Peace,**

 **Stan Lee.**

 **December 28, 1922 – November 12, 2018**

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For better or worse, I do not own any Marvel franchise

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Many thanks to my wonderful Betas, Bobbie23, Jesuslovesmarina, and MasterQwertster, who write some pretty cool stories. Go read them!

The fantastic cover image is courtesy of rickyryan. Just perfect!

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 **Guest Review answers :-D**

Guest (please choose name/nickname next time ^^) 

Beta Ray Bill was one of my thoughts too, except he is down as one of the previous (and deceased) Champions. Got his head on the side of the Grandmaster's tower even.

Stakar is a possibility, but I feel that a Ravager captain of his prestige would have already broken out to cause trouble. Or been killed off for trying it. Will be an important reference to him later in this chapter though.

Given _Venom_ , I think I will leave out the Symbiotes for this. They will have their appearances though most likely still. Also apparently he is part of a separate Marvel universe, like the X-men.

Hmm, Shi'ar Royal Imperium Guards I am not too familiar with, but definitely possible . . .

Thanks for the Suggestions, Review, and Support! :-D

Here is the newest chapter, and I hope you enjoy it! Looking forward to hearing your thoughts! :-D

.

Wanessa

Fico feliz que eu fiz o Brutasha linda!

Obrigado pela sua análise e apoio! :-D

Aqui está o mais novo capítulo, e espero que você goste! Ansioso para ouvir seus pensamentos! :-D

.

PJ

Glad to hear how well I am doing the characters, really made my day when I got this review :-)

Thank you for your review and support! :-D

Here is the newest chapter where they do indeed venture into the city, and I hope you enjoy it! Looking forward to hearing your thoughts! :-D

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Avengers: The (Alien) Sun's Going Down

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Chapter 4: The Most Wretched Hive of Scum and Villainy

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 _Previously: After learning more details about Sakaar from her prisoners, Natasha successfully coerces Scrapper 142 into helping them, via the attempted slaver's own Obedience Disk. However she and Bruce are unaware they are dealing with an Asgardian, even if they already know that said ex-Valkyrie has no loyalty to them._

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Sakaar

Bruce and Black Widow were all set to daringly head off to the capital of planet Sakaar. As stressed and impatient as they were, they were also undeniably excited at the opportunity to explore their first alien city. Unfortunately, they could not just pop over as they wished.

First, they had to sort through all the trash in their newly acquired (hijacked) space ship, and chuck out everything not useful. The next problem was how Black Widow absolutely refused to let the ship's former owner, and their prisoner, Scrapper 142, be the one to handle to controls. After all, the alien woman could use her familiarity with it to pull some sort of trick.

Fortunately the craft was similar enough to a Quinjet, that Bruce easily figured out how to fly it himself.

Before flying off, the rest of their captives had been left behind at the crash-site, untied and able to fend for themselves as best they could. Given the limited resources available to the two Avengers, freedom was the best compromise between mercy and expediency they could offer them.

With that out of the way, they were flying towards the city now.

Beneath the flight deck was Scrapper 142's cell for prisoners to sell, separated from the main ship by some sort of transparent material tougher than steel. A perfect way to keep an eye on someone, while emphasizing your dominance over them. Especially since otherwise the Avengers would be in tight confines with a super-strong, super-fast warrior. Nonetheless, Black Widow did not force Scrapper 142 into the holding bay, or knock her out with the Obedience Disc, and instead let her be on the flight deck with her and Bruce. She knew the other two were surprised, and indeed it had not been her original plan, yet after further considering what she had learnt about their captive's psychological state, she figured this, and had the best chance of avoiding –or at least reducing— future conflicts.

 _She's only cooperating because it's the path of least resistance_ , Black Widow knew. _Keeping her on a tight leash will only push her to lash out sooner, and next time we won't get so lucky. Especially since we can't rely on the Big Guy to always bail us out in time. It's a calculated risk as she might decide to attack us anyways, because she thinks we're too soft. So it's a fine balance between showing how tough we can really be, while also being generous and merciful enough to make her play along._

 _We're not playing by the rule-book she's used to, so she's off-balance. Keep her so confused for the flight, she should be safely passive for this part. While it's not going to win us her gratitude or loyalty, it only has to keep her compliant long enough for us to find people we can actually trust a bit._

 _Besides, while mind-games cannot last forever, treating someone that dangerous like a wild animal will only inevitably backfire. As the Other Guy would attest._

That was not to say the female Avenger's thumb ever left the activation switch of the remote for the Obedience Disc planted in Scrapper 142's neck. The slightest move, and there would be a world of pain for the alien, and everyone knew it.

So the super-alien was leaning casually against the side of the ship, arms crossed and watching them, while Bruce sat between the two ladies. He was obviously ecstatic at the novelty of piloting a spaceship for the first time, constantly murmuring how "extraordinary" the experience was. With that and the concentration necessary to safely fly, it ensured he was too wrapped up in his job to be distracted by how they were currently stranded on an alien world, as they passed over mound after endless mound of trash, while even more of it kept falling from the sky. A sky full of wormholes.

Truthfully, Black Widow knew that if not for her presence, or maybe that of another Avenger, Bruce would have already Hulked-out from the stress of it all.

She immediately caught the moment when the entirety of their situation tried to shove its way back to the front of his mind. Not enough to overwhelm him, yet still enough to fill him with doubts on what they are supposed to do. Deftly she reached out to give his shoulder a single squeeze, saying _I am here_. His eyes glanced at hers to show his gratitude as his confidence returned, and he resumed his task.

 _Good, it worked._

Which was fortunate, as even with the Barton clan she was still not entirely comfortable with genuine displays of affection. Learning how and when exactly to display them, without falling back on her seduction techniques.

Complicating the situation was how Black Widow was simultaneously working her hardest to compartmentalize any other emotions or feelings that may prove distracting on this mission.

 _Not the first time I've been in unfamiliar territory, without an extraction plan. Can have fun later comparing this to Budapest with Clint_.

Seeing they were only minutes away from the city, she repeated aloud what she and Bruce had already agreed on. "Remember, we're just going to settle down on the outskirts."  
"My ship will be stripped and stolen in minutes," Scrapper 142 flatly reminded them.

While not resorting to physical force, Black Widow still kept her voice quiet but deadly when addressing the other woman. "We're still not going to land in any official hangers, or anywhere where you're familiar with the staff and can warn them. Especially since the only hangers allowed for ships are the ones controlled by this Grandmaster of yours."

Scrapper 142 shrugged, and then gave a slight wince as she was still injured. Her face was still puffy, with Band-Aids from their First Aid kit for various cuts on it, and was wearing a splint and shoulder wrap on her left arm. In fact, it was a miracle she could even stand after the beating Hulk had given her. Probably a pride thing. _Hopefully_ it was only ego.

By sheer will, the master assassin's face remained impassive as she then processed that the bruises around the alien's face were starting to fade from what they had been before taking off. _Her healing factor is incredible! While she's definitely still hurt, I'd say she's recovering even faster than Steve! Alright, so we can't count on her internal injuries to slow her down either. Good to know_.

Recovering herself, Scrapper 142 sullenly said, "I'll need to disguise myself a bit then. I don't want the Grandmaster thinking I've betrayed him, otherwise I'm dead either way, and I'll lose a lot of business."

 _Well, that's unfortunate_ , Black Widow thought to herself. It confirmed her concerns about this Grandmaster. Clearly, whoever he was enough to intimidate an alien that could go toe-to-toe with the Hulk.

 **-(Alien) Sun-**

Sakaar City

The Grandmaster Palace

"Whoo! Let's have some fun!" squealed an effeminate man in rich robes of red, green, and gold. He played a few more tunes out of his musical keyboard as everyone partied around him, having fun.

As they should.

The Grandmaster was all about having a good time.

Today he was experimenting with green face-paint and nail-polish again for the first time in centuries. Albeit a brighter green then when he had done it last. He appeared like any one of hundreds of humanoid species, with tan skin, and rich, perfectly styled grey hair.

Around him his beloved subjects danced and laughed away at his most recent party, keeping them from focusing on any unpleasantness. Like how he had had that one family put to death for some reason or other.

(He could not remember the details, just that he was right to do so.)

And hey, this party was for him too! He would miss them just as much as everybody else, if not more! Why those two (he assumed they had been husband and wife or whatever) had been _wild_ in threesomes! Or foursomes. Fivesomes. Truthfully he only started to find the orgies a little silly when you had ten people all intertwined at once. Seriously people, that is when you start to split up into smaller groups! Honestly, why did he even have to explain this?

Anyways, it was sad they were gone, so now they were all having a party to feel better and forget about them.

(True, the armed and armoured guards scattered around the room might be a depressing reminder for a few, except he _always_ had his guards around, so they should be used to it. Unless said sentries were the type to get off on watching them have sex or something. Otherwise, just ignore them. In fact, why was he even worrying about that?)

The things he did to help lesser life-forms. In fact, for being such a Good Samaritan, he should buy himself something nice as a reward!

"Topaz," he said to Topaz, his loyal bodyguard and top aid these last few millennia, "I should do something nice for myself. Any ideas?"

The heavyset, heavily armoured woman promptly said, "There's that new movie depicting your heroism in founding Sakaar, that you were waiting to see. We can get the early release today, and have the actors come over to celebrate with you."

"Capital idea!" he clapped with glee. "Just what I wanted to hear."

He tapped his chin in thought. "Alright, so I'll party for another hour or two, relax from the strain for another hour," really both he and Topaz knew he would be reviewing any reports from his intelligence agents ('spies' was such a callous word), but why talk about such stuff here, "and then they can come over."

"Very good sir."

"Oh, and let Scrapper 142 know what we're doing when she gets back. I'm sure she'd love to come along and throw in her own thoughts about the scenes where I fight off the evil hordes!"

While Topaz did not even twitch, he knew that irritated her a bit. The two robust ladies had clashed from the beginning. Oh well, he figured after a few more centuries they would warm up to each other.

Feeling even better about himself, the Grandmaster waded his way amongst his subjects to dance with them himself.

 **-(Alien) Sun-**

Outskirts of Sakaar City

"I'm going to guess the Grandmaster lives there," Black Widow deadpanned, with a nod at the skyscraper towering over the others. From what she was seeing, she was surprised the man's ego had settled for calling both a planet and the capital city by the same name, as opposed to Planet Sakaar, and its capital 'Grandmaster-ville;' or something equally pretentious.

Bruce blinked in surprise at the sight of the structure that rose at least hundreds of meters above anything else in the city. Near the top, it looked like there were giant sculptures of heads sticking out of it. "And people complain about Tony being arrogant," he said with a grin.

"Pepper wouldn't let him do something like that," she teased.

Scrapper 142 just rolled her eyes at the banter, and tried to ignore the duo. It was almost embarrassing that she had lost-*cough* conceded a fight to Big Green and Red.

To distract herself, she checked her reflection in a convenient piece of blemish-free metal, and confirmed that her new red and yellow face-paint was sufficient to make her not totally recognizable. All three of them were also wearing items called 'sunglasses,' and 'baseball caps.'

In all honesty she thought the latter moronic, and the former pretty cool.

Not that it made up for how increasingly loathsome this whole mess was. She was playing tour guide for two Midgardians who had stumbled upon an alien planet (she doubted the rest of their race had so much as achieved basic interstellar travel), and was under increasing pressure as she tried to figure a way out of this mess.

Unfortunately, her usual tactics would not work as the duo carefully kept Bruce (and his hidden, muscular, green side) near her, while Widow stayed just out of the way with her finger still on the trigger for Scrapper 142's personal Obedience Disc.

('Widow' was obviously a pseudonym, and she might have heard Bruce calling her 'Natasha' or something.)

The longer this took, the greater the likelihood the Grandmaster would get impatient, wondering where she was. Moreover, if he found out she had been captured by newcomers, she might even end up tossed into the Contest of Champions.

She was under no delusions about two things:

1) If she fought the current Champion, she would die.

2) If she tried to oppose or even kill the Grandmaster, she would die _painfully_. She had seen it happen too many times.

Worst of all, _she had no booze!_

(Which was a reasonable thing to die by, unlike the other ways she had just contemplated. Sooner or later, her liver would give out.)

Utterly insufferable, Widow had left behind any drinks from her stash, spouting some nonsense about her using the bottles as weapons, which, while accurate, was still unacceptable! What was she supposed to do!?

Grimacing at having to actually think for once in umpteen centuries (or millennia, time worked weird here after all), Scrapper 142 tried to figure out a plan of action.

 **-(Alien) Sun-**

Bruce could only look around in wonderment as he drank in the sights before him. A civilization that was simultaneously old, yet more advanced than anything on Earth.

To be discrete, they had landed a few kilometers away from the city itself, hiding behind a particularly tall pile of junk. In preparation, he was 'scouting' with what were essentially hyper-advanced binoculars from the _Warsong_. Truthfully it was more like 'ogling at all the lovely, lovely science,' as he took in details of the city through the lens with crystal-clear clarity.

Each building was made of an assortment of scrap metals, leading to a melding of different designs. From what he could make out, the ones at the center of the city tended to be painted in brighter colours, with the entire structure painted the same shade. The closer one got to the edges of the capital however, the colours were more varied, as the homes and businesses were put together by a variety of materials from multiple sources, which retained their original hues.

The fact that basically everything was made of metal was also surprisingly fascinating, as it indicated that while this was literally a planet of junk, it also meant that the quality of it all was high enough to provide for sturdy shelters. _Unless that's necessary to survive the social violence hinted at here_ , he thought with a touch of gloominess, before returning to wide-eyed curiosity.

Everything welded, riveted, and in once case even tied together, all to make homes and little market stalls for people to live in and work from. From bitter experience he knew that the people living on the outskirts always had it rougher, so he figured it was more obvious here. Although he was also willing to bet that overall, everyone lived to varying degree on whatever artifacts came out of the wormholes, as opposed to whatever they made themselves. An entire civilization that was able to adapt the technology and resources salvaged from across the universe? Staggering!

Indeed, he was already picking up what looked like breathing masks and some other pieces of equipment he assumed were for species whom had not evolved for quite this type of oxygen-rich atmosphere. Life finding a way!

(He and Natasha were incredibly lucky this planet was suited for them too, like breathable air. He had even taken the time to experiment by dropping a rock a few times while doing mental calculations, and determined the gravity was only slightly lower than it was on Earth.)

 _Hmm, and all those other little goodies_ , he thought, feeling twenty –No thirty!— years younger, as he drank in the sight of more and more items and gadgets that looked easily decades more advanced than anything back home. Especially since not only were they obviously everyday items given how casually they were being treated, they also showed marked signs of wear and tear, and jury-rigged field repairs.

It was all junk that surpassed the best Humanity had to offer.

 _For now. I know I shouldn't get involved in any mad science again, but there couldn't be any harm in Tony and I making better life support gear or something, right? Or maybe—_ He stopped as reality caught up to him. _Of course, that's assuming I ever see him again . . ._

He shook off that thought with long practice, focusing on the positives.

For as horrifyingly stressful as this whole place was (an alien world and all that jazz), the fact remained that this place was also a gold mine. Endless possibilities!

Dimly Bruce knew that if he had been alone he would have been overwhelmed by all this and the Hulk would be on the loose. Possibly permanently if every time he was back in control he started stressing up all over again—especially at being stranded here forever. It'd be an endless cycle.

With Natasha along though, he was able to remain safely as Bruce Banner—able to believe this was al only temporary.

With that reassurance in mind, he let his imagination expand to properly process everything he was taking in.

Something clicked in his head. "Hey, Scrapper?" Goodness, he hated calling her that. It was not even a name, just a designation. He swung around to look at her with the binoculars still on, and her enlarged head winked at him through the lens, making him balk and drop what he was holding. He stammered a little before she got impatient.

"What?" she said with a mixture of emotions, and he straightened up and looked at her in concern. For all that she had done to them, and attempted to do, he still felt guilty for forcing her to put herself at risk by sneaking around the government. She only glared harder at his expression.

Coughing, he said what he originally meant to say. "If we double back to your ship, could we fix the autopilot to send it around the planet? I mean, you must have one if ships are so valuable here. That way it'll be mobile, so harder to steal, and you can probably set it to avoid any debris. Would that be better?"

Now she just looked confused for a few seconds, before giving a grudging nod. "Sure," she muttered, before doubling-back. It took about two minutes to set it up, and then _Warsong_ flew off away from the city. They had timed it so it would return at a slow pace in a week.

Not that Scrapper thanked them or anything.

"Starting to get into the flow of things, Doc?" Natasha said with an actual smile.

"Huh? Oh yeah. This place is just amazing. Hopefully we can take some of it back to Earth with us. Who knows what kind of advances we could uncover?" With a slight grimace, he cut himself off from going any further. It was abundantly clear by now, he was indulging his inner Mad Scientist too much. Despite what Tony said, he needed to step back and self-reflect on it again. Maybe even give it up. _I'll talk to Natasha about it, once we're outta here_ , he decided. He trusted her judgment with that.

He knew Natasha noted his sudden dark mood, and given their earlier conversation about Ultron (back when their only concerns were genocidal robots and figuring out their relationship), doubtless she knew what he was upset about. Fortunately they both knew that now was not the time. So instead she joked, "Does that mean I can get a lightsaber or two here?"

While he knew what she was doing, the geek in him was still hooked. "Do you!?" Bruce excitedly asked Scrapper, who backed away from him with a disturbed expression.

"A what?" she carefully asked.

"A what?" she carefully asked.

"Oh, ah, it's a bit of pop culture back home. Uhm, a sword made of stabilized plasma. Basically, a blade that is a laser of a fixed length."

Scrapper just gave a condescending grin while shaking her head. "Nope, and never will be. People keep trying, but the physics just don't work. Sure, there are some types of energy blades, but those're mostly fancy forcefield tricks; not really reliable for anything except short missions either, given the power costs. Metal blades with molecular edges are far more practical. Even then, they're only useful if you've got the speed, strength, and reflexes to truly use one. Otherwise, just stick to guns."

Doctor Bruce Banner, one of the most respected scientists in the world, did his best not to pout.

(It was only through sheer force of will that Natasha did not do the same. Clint had corrupted her into becoming a secret fan of the Original Trilogy after all. Plus, one of those would be _dead_ useful.)

Following the death of that childhood dream, they slipped into the city proper now, and started walking down the street. Bruce and Black Widow acting calm and discrete, while Scrapper 142 maintained her catlike grace.

For the Terrans, they were all-but assaulted by the variety of alien species and appearances. Fortunately, it seemed like there would be no trouble blending in amongst such a diverse crowd.

 _Un_ fortunately, all they could hear was gibberish, unable to understand all the diverse, alien languages.

Thankfully, this was not totally unexpected.

Back when things had settled down for the Avengers after the Battle of New York, Stark broached a topic that had been bugging him: how Thor and Loki were able to speak perfect English.

The short version was, Asgardians learnt so many different alien languages that they were able to figure out how to speak brand new ones at an obscenely fast pace. Past exposure to Earth's dialects centuries ago only made it easier.

Races that did not have such long lifespans, or similar advantages, relied upon universal translators, which was a major business in space. After all, for good or ill, people had to be able to communicate with each other. Thor had even told a story he had heard of, where due to a technical glitch, when one alien party had asked for some food, the words the others heard was that the newcomers were offering their dead uncle for an orgy and feast.

Stark had been as amused as Steve and Bruce were unnerved. Personally, Natasha and Clint had been wondering just how _alien_ the people in the story would have to be for that sort of misunderstanding to occur. Would their own psychological tricks even work past a certain level of predisposed violence? Clearly, they would have to up their game.

No doubt Scrapper had many of those handy translators, which was why they could understand one another. Not that it did Bruce and Natasha any good. Especially if they had to split up later. Clearly, they needed to get some of their own.

"How does currency work here?" Bruce asked, glancing at the various shoppers, noting how they all seemed to be buying stuff without taking out anything resembling money. Yet the way shopkeepers were hunched over their stalls . . . "Electronic? Everyone has miniature computers to tally their accounts and pay automatically?"

"Yes," huffed their unimpressed 'guide.' "The currency is in Units."

"How do we get some? Preferably without being sold into slavery." The Other Guy would voice their mutual objections to that . . . and for all that this place was made out of supposedly advanced materials, he was not willing to gamble with the lives of the people here by unleashing the Hulk. It was not _their_ fault that they were forced to live in such an oppressive, violent place. _They_ had not done anything to him and Natasha.

Snorting, Scrapper 142 just shook her head. "You don't. You don't have any other value to trade with besides your weapons. Although," she tapped her chin in thought. "You two could probably do alright in the small-time fighting rings."

"Thaaat sounds like a horrible idea. No, just no," Bruce uneasily said.

"Especially since the Grandmaster's probably got agents watching them, to keep an eye out for any potential contenders," added Black Widow with a knowing look at Scrapper 142, who was unrepentant.

Bruce winced at how he had failed to catch that. Getting back on track, he noted, "Either way, we need a way to talk to people first."

"I guess I'll have to steal two translators then," Black Widow calmly said. Given how badly Scrapper 142 appeared addicted to alcohol, it was probably best not to force her to part from some of her cash just yet. Plus, given her status, it was entirely possible her transactions were monitored. At the very least, her training screamed at her to not leave a breadcrumb trail. Bruce threw her a betrayed look, only for her to reassure him a little more warmly, "We can pay them back later."

Glancing at Scrapper 142, she added, "Since you seem to have an implant, do you know where we could find some? Preferably one that doesn't require surgery."

The alien looked around at the stalls, before gesturing at one with her chin. "That one," she said in flawless English. Something seemed off to Bruce though, and he suspected Natasha felt the same, even if neither of them had caught on yet.

A few minutes later, along with a careful distraction by Bruce towards the guards who were supposed to deter this sort of thing for newcomers, both Bruce and Natasha had little universal translators behind their ears. Now they could understand everyone.

"By the way," Bruce said after they had made some distance from their heist. "What usually happens to new species here? When they just come through the wormholes?"

Their prisoner shrugged. "They just try and make do. If they aren't nabbed as slaves, they try to fit in as best they can. Lots of business helping the newbies settle in and accept the way of things here. If they're lucky, they don't get ripped off in the process. Helps that they tend to come in small groups at a time, so most know better than to cause much trouble, and try and make the best of it, and settle down. Have kids of their own who grow up here, and then have their own. The troublemakers who come to the city don't last long."

 **-(Alien) Sun-**

 _Well that's a charming little warning_ , Black Widow dryly noted. _No doubt because of the benevolent iron fist of the Grandmaster._ She caught Bruce glancing at her, and met his eyes, silently communicating to him to not press further. That was what their 'guide' was hoping for.

Suddenly the crowd started to ripple, and Black Widow caught sight of figures marching in armour towards them.

"To the side," she hissed, dragging Bruce into an alleyway, while openly showing Scrapper 142 the Obedience Disc remote . . . and glanced down at a (surprisingly) primitive sewage drain. The message was clear: 'Rat us out, and I'll active this and drop it out of sight, and who knows how long you'll be writhing on the ground.'

Scowling, the alien woman ducked into the alley as well.

It was only about ten individuals going in formation down the street. The helmets and staffs (or spears?) they carried were twisted and alien looking, with variation between them, while their armour had the same strange patterns. Only the colours of the pattern were different, and were bright ones meant to catch your attention. Their weapons looked more ceremonial than anything, yet she could not dismiss the possibility they could still function as guns by shooting energy out of the tips. Their identities and even species were totally obscured though, and everyone who saw them was clearly afraid.

Fortunately, they passed by their hiding spot without issue, not even really looking around. Merely a show of force.

"That's the army you mentioned earlier?" quizzed Black Widow.

"Yep," Scrapper 142 reluctantly answered. Given the slight twitches to her body language, it was clear she was nervous. The question was whether the super-strong alien was nervous of those soldiers directly, or the possibly they had spotted her and would report it.

"How good's their armour and gear?" asked Black Widow. Despite what _Star Wars_ might want you to believe, she was confident that no technologically advanced dictatorship would willfully outfit their troops with equipment that was only designed to look pretty. Especially since given the aggressive and confrontational nature of this planet, it was all too plausible that at any time, advanced weaponry could drop through a wormhole to be picked up by anybody at all. At any point those soldiers could be in a serious firefight. Already she was wondering about any potential security protocols to keep imposters from stealing and wearing that armour, and how to bypass those measures in case she and Bruce needed to use them at some point.

"It's alright," Scrapper 142 evasively said.

With a wry smile, Black Widow tried a different track. "How would you handle going up against a squad like that? Head on?"

Sporting her own twisted grin, the alien admitted, "For that many, I'd rather use some heavy weaponry, preferably a gun. Just hitting them with my fists or mace is not fast enough, and their weapons would definitely start causing damage quick. Although they keep the serious firepower back at the Palace."

More interestingly, as the soldiers went by, most of the regular people kept edging back nervously, while hesitantly touching or twitching their hands (or species equivalent) towards a part of their bodies, usually near the upper torso or necks. In a few cases there was a brief glimpse of what appeared to be more Obedience Discs. _So even those free to walk the streets tend to have them. So at least a visible minority are slaves as well._

Satisfied as she confirmed her suspicions from her earlier interrogation of Scrapper 142, Black Widow reflected further upon the Grandmaster. Well-equipped soldiers patrolling everywhere were a sign of the might the dictator could bring down on everyone. That along with those little slave implants, it was easy to imagine how any opposition could be kept in line with minimal effort. By all appearances it was an effective mixture of both technology and violence to pacify everyone.

 _I wonder what Fury or Pierce would think of the Grandmaster's methods?_ she thought with unaccustomed bitterness.

 **-(Alien) Sun-**

[Flashback]

About a year ago

 _Natasha and Steve Rogers quietly made their way out of the hospital Nick Fury had died in._

 _Shortly before being shot by the Winter Soldier though, her boss had gotten a flash drive to Rogers. She had stolen it in turn, when she caught the super-soldier trying to conceal it himself. Badly._

 _So obviously it was their first clue as to what was going on, including why her boss was murdered, and now Captain America of all people was being hunted by S.H.I.E.L.D. as a traitor. The flash drive contained the files she had taken from the_ Lemurian Star _, a ship for launching satellites, which was interesting enough without considering how Fury had apparently hired pirates to seize it, giving him the pretext to send her in to secretly copy the files to this very flash drive. Obviously they needed to find someplace safe to read what was on it. Preferably someplace public, knowing the S.H.I.E.L.D. tracking protocols that would be on it, drawing in rapid response squads. Even if in the likely event it did not conveniently answer all their questions, she was betting her own hacking skills were good enough to find some useful clues._

 _"So what do you know?" she asked as they walked down the street, with her subtly keeping him away from any cameras. Before going over the flash drive, she would have to find him a better disguise than a hoody; it was just screaming 'I'm trying to hide my identity.' Especially with a build like that._

 _"According to Fury, S.H.I.E.L.D.'s compromised. That's why he came to me."_

 _"More than just the_ Lemurian Star _then," she mused aloud. "Whatever this is about, it has to be pretty serious. Any ideas?"_

 _"If it's involving that ship and the satellites it was launching, and had Fury so concerned, then I'm pretty sure it's got something to do with Project: Insight," Rogers grimly answered._

 _"Well, that's not good," she calmly said._

 _"Tell me about it. That much power," he stopped to shake his head. "If anything goes wrong, a lot of people are going to suffer." He threw her a hard look. "I'm surprised you're not more upset at something being dirty with S.H.I.E.L.D."_

 _"I'm adaptable," she blandly replied._

 _Inside though, Natasha Romanoff had an unfamiliar feeling of dread._

I have no idea what Project: Insight is.

 _As Fury's personal agent, she should know. Even if it was above her Clearance Level 7._

 _For crying out loud, even before Stark and Rogers went snooping around, she had already been aware of Phase 2, using the Tesseract to make—_

 _She cut off that line of thought as an uncomfortable inkling creeped up her spine._

 _So she kept lying; like she had told Rogers a few minutes ago, she was good at acting like she already knew everything._

 _"Although at the same time," she lightly probed, "I'm surprised Fury brought you onboard."_

 _"He just wanted me off his back, showing me those three next-generation helicarriers. All those guns, and the engines Stark helped make, and everything."_

 _Obviously, Rogers was still too unfamiliar with Iron Man to realize the flaw in that reasoning. Despite what Fury had apparently oh so carefully implied, probably using her own 'profile' on him that was a bunch of selective facts and reverse psychology, Tony Stark would never directly contribute to any weapons' platform –for what else could it be— unless he had personally vetted everyone involved. Not after what had happened last time he let his company's products get out of his sight._

 _Not that she herself had seen Stark lately. For all that they had fought for together in New York and buried the hatchet, Natasha did not want to push things by going to Stark/Avengers Tower unless it was for strictly 'hero' business. Especially not if Pepper Potts might be there._

 _The super-spy doubted the woman had forgiven her for not saying anything while her boyfriend was slowly being poisoned by the very Arc Reactor that was the only thing keeping his heart beating. Or how while undercover as his secretary, Natasha had_ enabled _his self-destructive downward spiral as he chose to party away his legacy, and drive away everyone close to him. All as a_ test _to see if he was worthy of joining the Avengers Initiative._

 _And she_ definitely _did not want to be there if one Bruce Banner was still living in the Tower. It . . . was probably for the best they keep their distance. Otherwise things were much too awkward if they bumped into each other._

 _Hence why now Fury or Clint tended to handle any actual official visits to Iron Man._

 _If she did not know about Project: Insight, then neither did Clint. As for Fury, for her to have missed him working on something on this scale required deliberate effort on his part to keep her occupied, and looking the other way._

 _In all likelihood, Rogers had only been informed about this to keep him from snooping around on his own, and digging deeper than Fury wanted (like he had with Phase 2), and because her boss want to evaluate the super-soldier's reaction firsthand. After all, given how concerned he had apparently been, she would bet Fury had been counting on only needing to stall and obfuscate for a few more days before these new helicarriers were launched._

 _With more careful questioning, she teased out the specifics of Project: Insight, and was confident she had figured out what the naïve Captain had missed:_

 _S.H.I.E.L.D. and other government institutions were handling terrorists well enough, especially considering how they could call in Captain America or Iron Man for back-up if necessary._

 _An anti-alien invasion force would be made public to reassure the general public that the powers-that-be were doing something. Plus, the guns would be pointed_ up _, not_ down _._

 _No, this was something else._

 _Project: Insight was not a 'quantum surge in threat analysis' to eliminate terrorists, as Fury had so carefully emphasized to Rogers, but massively powerful means to take out the_ Avengers _if necessary!_

 _Yes, it could be used to take on other super-powered beings who were a threat to global peace. Except, the way Fury had gone about it made her instinctively know it had been conceived with the Avengers as unspoken potential targets. That it had been born from the realization that the Avengers Initiative had outgrown what it had been intended for, and that contingencies were required._

 _The whole group was too powerful, so a counter-balance was necessary. They had created the most advanced precision targeting to track and fire upon them from anywhere in the world; and yes, she knew they had DNA samples for all the Avengers. With the sort of firepower Rogers was hinting at, even Thor would be at the very least badly hurt, while the Hulk would be unable to reach the helicarriers that far up into the air._

 _Not that Natasha had any issue with that._

 _She understood the necessity._

 _She also knew that Fury would never authorize the elimination of the Avengers without good reason. Despite what others may have thought, he had neither been that ruthless nor stupid. It was just a_ contingency _for him, with the added benefit of actually taking out terrorists along the way._

 _No, what really bothered her was how Fury had shut her out of this. As if he did not trust her! That as a full-fledged Avenger, and from fighting with them in New York, she had become compromised!_

 _After all that she had proven willing to do in service of making up for her past crimes!_

 _It grated at her._

 _What else was she unaware about regarding S.H.I.E.L.D.?_

 **-(Alien) Sun-**

Present

Of course, things had only gotten more complicated from there, even if she had reconciled later with Fury, after learning he had faked his death. For all his faults, he was not a bad man. More importantly, he had come to recognize how his very ruthlessness had become detrimental to achieving the peace and freedom he wanted for everyone.

(Learning you were the one to inspire one of your best friends to become a leading member of H.Y.D.R.A., does that to even a man as cynical as Nick Fury.)

With a mental shake of her head, Black Widow suppressed those thoughts and memories –ones important to Natasha Romanoff—and turned her attention back onto the mission.

Goodness, she was getting sloppy.

Mind properly compartmentalized once more, she reassessed the Grandmaster's political and social policies, with an emphasis on the Contest of Champions. As far as she could tell, the 'Bread and Circus' routine of it was how the public –one made up of countless species with their own cultural and psychological backgrounds— were properly able to vent their frustrations of being stranded on a dump with no way of leaving, and now living under a dictator. A way to vent without lashing out at the world, and the man on top. Instead they found their rush in the spectacle of all the bloodshed and hype of fighting gladiators. Otherwise, there would be even more blatant signs of oppression to keep the inevitable discontent down.

(She refused to believe that Humans and Asgardians were that far removed from every other species.)

Yes, the Grandmaster apparently had millennia to install and maintain social instruments of loyalty and obedience into successive generations. Indeed she was very much hoping that the man was not reserving some more literal 'instruments of loyalty and obedience,' ones even worse than the Obedience Discs. Things like Loki's Scepter to literally control minds. Unfortunately, there was nothing she could do about that if there were any, so she had to focus on the more traditional methods she was familiar with.

Except, given how newcomers arrived regularly, there had to be some sort of more immediate outlet for relative newcomers too. Which led right back to the Contest of Champions, the apparent cornerstone of it all, to the point that it was possibly a fixation of the local overlord. Especially given all the advertisements for it she could see just walking down the street, aimed at branding (again, she was hoping there was nothing like subliminal hypnotism involved) the tournament straight into your mind. No wonder it was so popular.

Unfortunately, that was not very helpful for figuring out a safe way to return to good-old Earth.

Obviously, if a fight broke out while they were trying to find a ride back home, Black Widow knew that the best they could hope for was probably to run away. Otherwise Scrapper 142 would use the distraction to try and grab the remote for her Obedience Disc, and in such a chaotic place like this, the Hulk would do more harm than good. In a literally alien environment, there would be far too many triggers for him.

Meaning it would be up to her. Her and her two laser rifles that Bruce had declared to be in the best condition, two machine pistols with a total of seventy-two bullets, six taser discs, one grenade, one last brick of C4-Ultra, two flashbangs, a garrote, eight knives, and three long needles in her pant-legs.

Hardly enough to take on a whole world.

So she was shoving all her anger back where it belonged; keeping herself at her best, to get back home as quickly and quietly as possible. Granted, it was uncomfortable –and frankly unhealthy, to the point she was glad Bruce had not caught on yet to what she was doing— to fall back on such coping mechanisms. To be the Black Widow and not Natasha Romanoff, as much as she desperately wanted to let the former just disappear. To go away.

Unfortunately she knew she needed every trick she had to stay at the top of her game if they were to survive Sakaar. Even if that included the Red Room's programming she fought so hard to overcome, because she was so totally outside of her element here. The only skills she had that _might_ otherwise be applicable to this kind of place . . . would most likely just make it all the worse.

Then she remembered her words to Clint after breaking him out of the alien, wannabe-god Loki's brainwashing and the killing spree it had sent him on. Reassuring her partner that none of their training had covered for that sort of madness. A fact that had failed to stop the two of them from gearing up with the rest of the team, and heading out to stop Loki and his invading army almost all on their own.

Inwardly, Natasha peeked through and smiled. _Yes, I'm an Avenger, and the impossible is our thing. We will always find a way. So long as our little —dysfunctional as it is— family sticks together_.

 _I'm not alone here after all._

This was a classic example of the value of being an Avenger over being a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent. No credible intelligence agency would waste its time preparing its operatives for being stuck on an alien world, trying to get home without incurring the attention or wrath of the local despot.

This whole situation was the sort of thing they wrote science-fiction stories about, except usually the protagonist was:

a) Taught by some elite, futuristic academy about alien cultures, or

b) The alien culture in question was suspiciously similar to an Earthling one. Like a planet of cowboys or something.

(Cooper liked _Star Trek_ , alright!?)

Fortunately, intimidation and violence appeared universal, and Black Widow kept a hand on her weapons, and glared at anyone who stared at them too long.

Despite this, it could only be a temporary measure. When she and Bruce started asking around for genuine help, they would have to be able to blend in more 'respectfully' as well. Which was what she was counting on Bruce for. She knew her dork would be the one crucial for figuring out how this place _truly_ ticked.

Surprising as it might sound, he had done it countless times back when he was on the run.

 **-(Alien) Sun-**

[Flashback]

Avengers Tower

After H.Y.D.R.A.'s Failed Coup

 _Natasha and Bruce were enjoying some hot tea on one of the various balconies in the high-rise tower the Avengers were all living in._

 _They were enjoying another pleasant evening together after they had –finally— become friends._

Not that I'll ever thank Steve for what he did, _she internally smirked._

 _They had just had a long and involved discussion regarding tea, including comparing the best places to get it. She remained adamant that this little shop run by an elderly grandmother in China was the best place to go to. As part of one of her covers, the master assassin and spy had bought some, only to fail to actually try it until she got back to the US after the mission was complete. On a whim she had tried it and absolutely loved it . . . and had never been assigned a mission anywhere remotely near that store ever again._

 _"Why not just take a vacation there?" he asked, before quickly raising a hand. "Yes, I get why you haven't, but a little time to yourself won't kill you. A little vacation tends to be helpful even."_

 _She merely took another sip of her tea, which was answer enough. Natasha was not sure if he really did 'get why,' except she refused to challenge him on it. Better to just let it die._

 _"There's a seminar near there later this year for some new work on cybernetics," he wheedled. "If I went, I'd need a bodyguard . . ." He trailed off hopefully._

 _Feeling an uncomfortable twist of guilt, she stalled. "I appreciate the offer, and I'll think about it," she promised. Probably not, yet it was still very sweet of him._

 _Without losing a beat, she then asked him details about a tea shop he had mentioned in El Salvador._

 _"It was the atmosphere I missed the most," he confessed. "Really soothing. No one caused trouble there. I was sad to go, but when I discovered the blonde and her friend on my tail, I had to leave."_

 _As the words left his mouth, Natasha almost blinked in shock herself. This was not her first time hearing about the shop, for her first time was part of a monthly debrief for those with clearance about the Hulk, and her flawless memory quickly put faces and names to the agents who had been spying on him at the time. Even as she made the connections, he froze up as if he had made a mistake._

 _He had_ known.

 _Keenly she remembered how they met in a little shack in India, and him asking how S.H.I.E.L.D. found them, and her confident reassurance that not only had they never lost track of him, but—_

 _"Please tell me," she said with a groan that was only half-theatrical, "that you weren't just using us to keep the other spy agencies off of you?"_

 _He winced and gave an embarrassed shrug, even if by all rights he should not have. After all,_ they _had been the ones spying on him, and he had apparently played the most 'elite' spy organization for fools._

Although we still managed to lure him into that trap with a little girl and a sob story. Except . . .

 _"Alright," she sighed, leaning back in her chair. "How'd you do it?"_

 _With another awkward shrug, he slowly laid it out. He had been a middle-class, Caucasian, American nerd disappearing into the depths of the Developing World, switching countries every few months to stay ahead of his pursuers. More importantly, he'd needed to do so without drawing any attention to himself from the locals. Especially since if certain people thought he was vulnerable enough to take advantage of it, it might bring out the Hulk. Clearly the odds had been stacked against him if he was going to pull it off._

 _In the beginning he had been too paranoid to even use the internet to learn tricks to disappear, so he had had to learn the hard way. By watching. Observing. Testing out his theories. Checking every variable._

 _Later he had dared to use computers for further help and advice._

 _After a few clumsy attempts by non-S.H.I.E.L.D. agents, he had realized he had various intelligence agencies after him that he had been forced to ditch. After some stressful trial and error, he managed to escape from them, except he never truly let his guard down afterwards. He kept track of everyone who came near him or where he worked or lived. Kept track of who were newcomers, or had something slightly off with their accents, what he noticed when planning out escape routes, what he had overheard. Later he got more clues from what he managed to hack out of certain 'secure' intelligence networks. . ._

 _All those little skills polymaths picked up over time._

 _Putting all the pieces together, devising a theory, and testing it._

 _Natasha could only stare in admiration for what he had accomplished. She and the rest of S.H.I.E.L.D. had been grudgingly impressed at how good his vanishing acts were, but only now did she realize how much they had truly missed. How he had played on their arrogance. Despite this, he reassured her Fury's little spies had been the most successful, keeping a discrete eye on Bruce for months before those two agents had gotten sloppy and compromised the whole agency by making him aware of their existence._

 _Realizing he was being spied upon was one thing._

 _Realizing it, and staying calm long enough to learn who S.H.I.E.L.D. was, and discover that not only were they just observing, they were also keeping all the rival spies away, was something else. Once Bruce had known about this better brand of spies, he had taken it another step farther by devising a successful counter-strategy of letting S.H.I.E.L.D. think they could nab him whenever they wanted, while in reality he was keeping loose tabs on them in turn, and could have bolted anytime he wanted. Definitely much simpler than having to keep relocating constantly. Moreover, that also implied . . ._

 _"You sneaked away from us a few times didn't you," she accused with a chiding tone. "To not only test if you could, but to try out some experiments you thought up, or to make sure you were under control on tough days without letting S.H.I.E.L.D. know."_

 _Bruce blinked in obvious surprise, and then grinned. "Heh. Yeah. No fooling you."_

 _"Well, you fooled a lot of other spies."_

 _"None of whom were as smart as you," he rejoined._

 _"Says the man with seven PhDs," she smirked, and now he gave a more confident, good-natured shrug. With the two of them back on more comfortable ground, she turned back to talking about more important stuff like other tea shops._

 _She catalogued what she had learnt away for later consideration, although she had already decided she would not tell Fury. Her 'boss' had enough secrets as it was, and not knowing this one would not hurt anyone._

 _This discovery also reaffirmed that for all that Bruce had once been a 'mild-mannered nerd,' and had become even more passive since, at his heart there was a reason his alter-ego was a mass of chaos._

 _Doing what he had done was a risky gamble, even if it had let him learn_ _more and more about how S.H.I.E.L.D. kept track of him. If not for Loki forcing her to improvise a hasty plan together to approach Bruce while under short time constraints, he probably would have been gone before the little girl used as bait had even entered his apartment._

 _He had played that little spy game, because not even his fear and hatred for the Other Guy could deny that he was a scientist who was at his best when he was –even without being consciously aware— pushing boundaries and making new discoveries. More than one type of boundaries._

 _With the Avengers (and the blanket pardon for his services in New York) he had become free to do so again, albeit with the relief of knowing that there were the others on the team keeping an eye on him._

 _Because Bruce Robert Banner –clumsy, and socially inept Bruce Banner— was a scary,_ scary _genius._

 _Except he knew that (particularly after the Accident), and did his best to keep it in line, just as he did with the Hulk._

 _Natasha would be lying if that revelation did not make her appreciate him a little more._

 _Moreover, somehow the way he had done all that, and yet feel so embarrassed about it —keeping quiet so as to not hurt her feelings for tricking her and S.H.I.E.L.D.— made it almost adorable. In a dorky sort of way._

 **-(Alien) Sun-**

Present

So yes, if anyone could figure out how to disappear into an alien culture, it was Bruce.

In fact, she was glad to see he was finally cheering up as he looked at all the signs of advanced science, distracting himself from the harsh realities of their new circumstances. The last time she saw him like this, at the party with the rest of the Avengers and Hill, celebrating the retrieval of Loki's Scepter, almost seemed like a lifetime ago. She remembered him acting like a goof, pretending to Hulk-Out while trying to lift Thor's hammer.

That is where he had been at that point; feeling so at ease with his life he was willing and able to _joke_ about the Other Guy. Not hate and fear him.

Hopefully they could find some time here to freely relax, just Natasha and her boyfriend talking about nothing in particular, without a care in the world. Maybe do some actual boyfriend/girlfriend stuff together.

(She was doubly grateful that Stark was not here, because he would be enjoying himself trying to trick them into a room labeled 'Stress Relief Sex Pad,' or 'Private Zucchini Hidey-Hole,' or something equally asinine.)

 **-(Alien) Sun-**

It took the three of them a few hours of carefully making their way through the city, keeping note of everything, and slowly soaking the atmosphere all in. Especially Bruce, who Black Widow knew was busy enjoying the sights, hardly even needing her to remind him she was there to help keep him calm.

Personally, she was unimpressed. Garbage was scattered about everywhere –real garbage that was decomposing on the ground. Rags, pieces of scrap, and some stuff that was so messed up she could not even guess what it was. Or used to be.

Bruce had been chewing on one of the ration bars he and Tony had whipped up. If necessary, a whole one could keep even Thor full for a day while out on a prolonged mission (they were appropriately called Lembas Bars, despite the objections of Pepper and those Avengers who caught the Tolkien reference). However the act of eating brought to mind the question of how they were to sustain themselves in the long term.

"How do they feed a population living on a planet-wide pile of garbage?" he exclaimed. Yes, it was clear that there were foods here that could be served to a wide range of lifeforms. Unfortunately, she knew Bruce was a vegetarian, and even when on the run he had done his best to avoid breaking that practice. He turned to Scrapper 142. "Where do they get food? I didn't see any of signs of farms, and you can't count on the wormholes to drop it off."

Their 'local guide' looked confused, as if she had never really thought about where her food came from. She thought about it for a moment, before evidently scrapping up a memory. "Mostly mushrooms that grow on the waste plains. Maybe they've got indoor gardens or something."

"Hydroponics?"

"Dunno. Don't care. Never have."

A sudden commotion suddenly came down the street from behind. Bruce whirled around to look, while Black Widow hesitated to keep an eye on Scrapper 142, and noted the alien was neither concerned nor shocked by the noise. Satisfied, she took a glimpse of what was coming.

It was a parade.

Laughing, singing, and dancing, the large crowd of various aliens made their way down the street. In contrast to the preceding grand diversity in colours and appearances of the locals up to this point, these ones were all dressed in a light golden colour, waving similar flags, banners, or figurines on a stick that looked like they were made of papier mâché. All were depictions of the same individual, with dozens carrying the pièce de résistance.

The centerpiece was a large model of a golden furred creature with lots of big fangs and claws. Natasha had a sinking feeling the large size of them were not out of proportion either. Best as she could figure, it resembled a weasel . . . except for the eight legs. Plus, the previously emphasized fangs and claws. If the little figures stuffed in its mouth were anything to go by, even someone as big as the Other Guy could comfortably lay in those jaws, with room to spare.

"Ferahgo! Ferahgo! Feragho! Feragho!" the crowd cheered while throwing around gold dust. Children laughed as they looked up in awe at what was obviously a hero to them. Easily dozens of people were caught up in the festivities, with more joining in.

" **Ferahgo! Ferahgo! Feragho! Feragho!** "

Honestly, while such levels of public adoration would be uncomfortable and even outright dangerous if directed towards the Avengers, Natasha could not help but feel it would be nice to be shown more appreciation for what they did. _Although I doubt it's a good thing in this case. That kind of adulation, along with how energetic they are about it –Scrapper 142 and the shopkeepers to the side are treating it as a regular occurrence— doesn't seem healthy. Not on this level. And I think it's not just if it were from Humans either._

"Is all this for the Contest of Champions?" hazarded Bruce.

"Yep," acknowledged Scrapper 142. "That's the current Champion, Ferahgo. Undefeated, uhm, twenty or so years in a row." Not that they knew what a Sakaar year was.

"Guess he's pretty tough," Black Widow lightly probed Scrapper 142.

Snorting, the other woman gave her a condescending look. "Even Big Green wouldn't want to go up against him."

 **-(Alien) Sun-**

Millennia Ago

Once there was a powerful race of beings who had advanced to levels beyond the imaginations of most species.

The Titans.

Technology, art, philosophy— they had it all. Moreover, they had mighty bodies that possessed strength, speed, reflexes, and longevity rarely found among other races.

Of course, those same long lifespans had led to resources being depleted faster as the population only seemed to grow, and the greater ability to cause violence had led to their self-extinction as they fought over dwindling resources.

While Thanos, son of Alars, could only watch and weep.

If only they had listened to him.

If only they had halved the population as he had advocated. Fairly. Impartially. Instead they had called him insane. A mutant.

And so they had all died. Starving and killing each other for a single scrap of bread.

So he had set out across the universe to save it. By any means necessary. So on his own he had set off to the stars and brought Balance to other worlds. On his own he crushed their armies beneath them, doing what was necessary to reduce overpopulation. Without even taking a scratch.

Except eventually he came upon someone stronger.

A champion of a culture who was able to match Thanos, and force him to retreat before he was overwhelmed by the native army.

So two weeks later, Thanos returned and killed the warrior in his sleep. A fusion bomb killed and demoralized the rest enough for him to be free to finish his work.

Afterwards, he reflected.

He learnt.

Power, technology, experience— none of them were guarantees in a fight.

There was always someone out there who was a little better. A little luckier. A little faster. A tad stronger.

Worst of all, one day he might end up facing a _team_ of people with special skills. and a burning desire to end his crusade! To stop his Destiny!

So a younger Thanos had plotted and planned.

Schemes millennia in their preparation and execution.

 **-(Alien) Sun-**

An Alien World

Now

Where the ignorant saw death, the enlightened saw Balance.

It was a mountain that bore evidence of once lush, red plants upon it, now scarred black.

Bodies were scattered amongst the ripped-up terrain and patches of fire. Either corpses of the long, crimson natives now lying in pools of pink blood, or the multi-species wearing the garb of the Ravagers, or the grey-skinned, golden-armoured invaders. Earthlings would recognize the last ones instantly from Earth's first alien invasion.

Chitauri.

"Rejoice," a fervent voice rose up. Words of a true believer, as mocking as they sounded to their audience. The speaker was about Human height and proportion, in a black coat with golden trimmings. Under his large forehead, his wrinkly face was serene despite the few, slight cuts on it. "Your suffering will now come to an end. You are about to die at the hand of the Children of Thanos. Be thankful, that your meaningless life will now contribute to the balance . . ."

The 'child of Thanos' in question was Ebony Maw, his adoptive father's general, agent, assassin, and whatever else was necessary.

With a snarl, his audience struggled upright. Easily as long as Ebony Maw was tall, his thick body was mostly tail, barring two arms, and a head with finned ears. Eyes glistening with hate. His name was Krugarr, a powerful alien sorcerer, and Captain of one of the Ravager Factions. He had just finished a massive heist with Stakar Ogord and the rest of their original team after getting the band back together. With that success, yet still mourning the death of Yondu Udonta, he had decided to take a little break back home, only to find it under attack.

His second in command, a humanoid, snarled the words his leader was unable to express. "Thanos will pay for this! For attacking this world! All Ravagers will make him suffer after we're done with you!"

The bodies of the rest of their crew lay around him. Proud Ravagers who had given their lives fighting alongside their Captain.

"After your salvation," Ebony Maw smiled beatifically, "you shall join your fellows in becoming his Children."

One hand clasped over his bleeding abdomen, Krugarr thrust the other arm forward to shoot beams of golden, arcane light.

Maw merely raised boulders with his mind to block the shots, while simultaneously revealing more Chitauri poised with their weapons aimed and firing.

With a desperate gesture, the air around Krugarr seemed to fracture, and he and his lieutenant were gone.

"The Mirror Dimension," Ebony Maw sighed. "So predictable." A single nod was given to the Chitauri.

They turned their weapons around and fired at the village in the distance. Even at this range, their advanced energy guns were accurate, and fire and smoke quickly became visible as homes burned and people died.

In a flash Krugarr reappeared from within the parallel dimension, except this time he was more prepared. Full of wrath, he threw a gateway to the Mirror Dimension at the aliens, swallowing them up. Harmless, and impotent.

Drawing in a deep breath, the sorcerer planned what to do next. He could not let his guard down and risk them esca—

A Chitauri he missed shot him in the back.

Two more joined in, shooting even after the Ravager Captain stopped twitching.

Screaming in hate, Krugarr's last man turned to kill them, shooting down two before the last one got him.

A ripple in the air, and with a screeching noise Ebony Maw returned to this reality, tucking a little object back into his coat. "Did you really think you were the first user of magic tricks we ever faced? Take solace in the knowledge that now you are improving the universe."

A brief glance at the distant village saw movement as the surviving residents ran for the neighbouring forest. (Frankly, it was a surprise they had not run away sooner . . . Unless they had missed the distant lightshow of the furious battle?) He gave a resigned sigh, knowing that it would take a little while to track down everyone to ensure Balance.

By killing off half this world's population.

 _Why must they struggle so needlessly? No matter, we will kill them all, and as many other villages as needed to complete our mission. Given the sensitivity of the matter, it will have to be made to look like a series of fires, with fate cruelly playing against them. Or at least the Chitauri and others will handle that._

Ebony Maw had other, more pressing, priorities.  
This sorcerer's ship had been fast, always on the move, and shielded by sorcery, leading them to suspect the possibility that the elusive Soul Stone of the Six Infinity Stones lay within. They were running out of potential hiding places, unfortunately. Their Father had lost centuries alone, hunting down what remained of the Celestials—the ones that could be found, at least. Given how members of their order had used the Infinity Stones in the past, it had been a logical choice, and all the more disappointing when the hunt had turned up fruitless.

Granted, killing all the Celestials had done much to establish the might and magnificence of Thanos. Nevertheless, it was clear that mortals must be involved in the concealment of the Stones.

Especially since another faction of the Ravagers had been involved in stopping Ronan of the Kree, from acquiring another one of the Stones (which had also been previously hidden from their scanners), made it obvious to investigate them next. Moreover, it was obvious some careful trimming had become necessary, so as to weaken them.

So they had carefully waited until a sleeper agent planted aboard the ship notified them that Krugarr was returning home,where he would be vulnerable. Alas, properly tearing it apart for clues, even if off-world to add credibility to its own unfortunate 'accident' far away from here, would take time.

No matter.

 **-(Alien) Sun-**

The _Sanctuary II_

Later

With a satisfied smirk, Thanos deactivated the recording of the battle between Maw's forces and Krugaar, and sat back in contemplation.

He was in his throne room upon his flagship, the _Sanctuary II_ , his ultimate place of power, and a testament to how far he had risen.

After all, the title: "The Most Powerful Being in the Universe," had not just been handed to him.

Eliminating the competition was but one part of his centuries-long crusade.

Krugarr was an excellent example of the kind of threats he had to deal with. A cunning sorcerer, it was entirely possible the Lem could have come up with some new magical trick to hurt or even kill him. More importantly, someone like that would have come after him with a team of such resourceful people. Indeed, that had been another reason to target Krugarr, with Maw covering his tracks, to help weaken and divide the Ravagers and their fleet of canny survivors, before they became more of a nuisance.

Earth was an even better example of such potential threats to his destiny. The home territory of both Captain Marvel and the Ancient One, under the watchful eye of Asgard's King Odin, was not something one challenged casually. Especially when you may need time to _search_ for your prize.

In addition, there was the emergence of those Avengers who had managed to best his Chitauri. Exactly the sort of team of individuals that could grow to be a genuine threat—if given the opportunity.

The kind of challenges one man burdened by destiny could not guarantee to surmount alone. Not at all. Nevertheless, he had not cowered at the task set before him, beginning the creation of his war machine.

He also began amassing disposable armies that he could send in endless waves without care of the cost. Molding a primitive, hive-minded species into the modern Chitauri, along with their vast war machine, had taken centuries alone. Their first official act was the complete disposal of his preceding race of slave soldiers.

Pawns were sent forth to do his will, their minds and spirits appropriately broken beforehand. Or, they were seduced into thinking that they could become part of something greater. He did whatever proved necessary for each individual.

Except, Thanos had not stopped there.

He had raised children as his own, teaching them to be his assassins and generals.

He allied himself with short-sighted yet useful fools (like Ronan in particular) for more pawns, albeit ones who could not be directly connected to him. (He didn't want any of his enemies, or the higher powers, linking his activities until his plan was on the precipice of fruition).

Intergalactic politics were manipulated to keep the powers-that-be too mistrustful of each other to band together against him. Or, their flanks were exposed to their opportunistic neighbours, if they should try to kill him on their own.

Those warriors who were just good enough to be a problem died by the hands of shadows. Luck ran out as endless armies swarmed over them. The quick were overwhelmed by countless weapons trained upon them. The strong eventually tired as his children wore them down. Anything and everything that was necessary to succeed was executed without delay.

While he, the so-called 'Mad Titan,' stayed back to ensure that everything progressed as necessary.

Not that he allowed himself to become rusty, of course.

Thanos glanced down at the golden gauntlet he held in one hand. _Because I'm afraid it may all come down to me in the end._

 **~~To Be Continued…~~**

 **Author Notes:**

 **The bit from Thanos' perspective is my take on a lot of Thanos' behaviour throughout the films. He prefers to utilize pawns, disposable armies, and assassins, because he knows as powerful as he is (as the Hulk would attest), he is not invincible, and his dream is in danger of dying with him. Even with several of the Infinity Stones, the team he faced on planet Titan gave him a hard fight and nearly succeeded at points. He also freely acknowledged that Nebula nearly successfully killed him, despite him being able to take on either Hulk or Thor.**

 **.**

 **On a similar note, regarding Scrapper 142's thoughts on the Grandmaster, I find it telling that both she and Loki were genuinely concerned about his wrath. Especially since you would think Loki's powers would allow him to escape detection, and maybe even kill and impersonate the Grandmaster. Except the egomaniac with a literal god-complex chose to take a more delicate approach . . .**

 **Even later, Thor and Loki were unusually cautious when going up against the Grandmaster, or at least his soldiers. For a race trained in melee combat, both of them chose to use high-powered guns, and taking cover from shots, instead of getting in close.**

 **.**

 **For those who did not recognize Krugarr, he is the from the stinger at the end of _The Guardians of the Galaxy 2_ with the Ravager captains getting the 'band' back together. He's the red alien who made a double-thumb's up with sorcery.**

 **.**

 **Fun fact: the jawbone that makes up the Hulk's bedframe in canon? That was from the previous Champion. Some of you may recognize the name from the 'Redwall' novels, being a convenient weasel villain name.**

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 **Next Chapter: 'What Do You See?'**

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 **Please Review, and I will get back to you!**


	5. What Do You See?

For better or worse, I do not own any Marvel franchise

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Many thanks to my wonderful Betas, Bobbie23, Jesuslovesmarina, and MasterQwertster, who write some pretty cool stories. Go read them!

The fantastic cover image is courtesy of rickyryan. Just perfect!

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 **Guest Review answers :-D**

PJ

Yeah sorry, took a lot longer than I expected to make progress with this!

Really appreciate hearing that my character development is going well! :-D

Here is the newest chapter, and I hope it was worth it! Looking forward to hearing your newest thoughts! :-D

Thank you for your Review and Support! :-D

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Avengers: The (Alien) Sun's Going Down

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Chapter 5: What Do You See?

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 **New characters introduced here can be found on the regular Marvel wiki.**

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 _Previously: As Bruce and Natasha explore Sakaar with their prisoner, Scrapper 142, they become increasingly aware of the dangerous nature of the dictatorial rule of the Grandmaster. All they want to do is just get home . . ._

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Sakaar

The city of Sakaar

Several hours had passed for the Avengers, stranded upon the alien world of Sakaar, while their prisoner/tour guide showed them around the alien city.

"It's starting to get dark," noted Black Widow. The locals were starting clear the street at a brisk pace. "And I bet there's a curfew."

There was not, if also no need to tell them, figured Scrapper 142. "We'll need a place to stay. Mine's available."

Neither Avenger even pretended to entertain that offer. They were well aware that her present co-operation, or lack of violence to be more accurate, was largely based upon the Obedience Disc latched into her neck. Going back to her home, where she would be most secure, was a superbly bad idea.

 _We can't trust her_ , knew the master assassin. _Except_ _we still need her for now, and she knows it. Especially since we want to stay away from law enforcement. Need someplace safe._

 _Still, that was a pretty crude_ _attempt_ _from her._ Discretely Black Widow gave the alien an evaluative look. _She's not looking too good. Definitely uncomfortable. Lingering internal injuries she's been hiding that are now catching up? Her bruises healed pretty quickly, yet that may just be easier for her healing factor. Or is her_ _alcohol_ _addiction_ _simply_ _that bad?_

While Black Widow was distracted with the issue of their coerced guide, Natasha Romanoff's boyfriend had stayed focused on the bigger picture.

"So we have to disappear into the slums," sighed Bruce. "The real ones, not the ones at the edge of the city."

"You think no one's tried that?" queried Scrapper 142. "Everyone at one point or another wants to escape from sight like that."

"You'd be surprised," he shrugged. "There's always places to go if you don't want to be found, where the authorities don't go because of how much they're hated. The trick of course is surviving your new neighbours. In my experience though, it tends to vary in terms of how much danger you're in. The people there can even be surprisingly friendly, helping each other out."

Alternatively, he did not add, they could be rather unwelcoming of strangers who would be fresh competition for scarce resources. He had a good feeling the two ladies were well aware of this.

"So you've got lots of experience co-existing with desperate aliens?" she sarcastically asked.

Frosty as the coldest regions of Siberia, Black Widow laid down the law. "It doesn't matter. For tonight we need to be somewhere where the authorities won't find us. So that's where we're going. I presume that this place is built on top of another layer of garbage? The lower we go, underneath the sun and the benevolence of the Grandmaster, the worse it gets."

Visibly reluctant, the alien nodded and conceded the point.

"Alright. Let's get going."

 **-(Alien) Sun-**

Sakaar

Sakaar City

Underbelly

More hours passed, and night had definitely fallen.

With a huff, Scrapper 142 slammed the alien to the ground, rewarded by the sickening crunch of bone.

Deftly she snagged the flask from his pocket and chugged back whatever few drops were in it, before casually throwing and shattering the empty bottle against a wall. "Having fun?" she sarcastically growled through her yellow and red make-up.

"Oh, loads," Black Widow tightly grinned. She had put her sunglasses away, and her cap was tucked into her belt. It was so dark down here that not only did they no longer need to obscure their faces, but their disguises were also a hindrance to their sight.

They were now in the Underground.

Sub-levels below the capital city of Sakaar, their surroundings would have resembled underground caves, if not for all the buildings. Indeed, they looked just like the streets above, aside from the ceiling. The only light came from scattered fires in scavenged metal containers, while dirt and grime were the prevailing themes. _I wasn't even serious about the Grandmaster building the new city atop the old_ , she glumly thought. Nonetheless, it must have been precisely what he had done. After all, there was a limit to how much trash could be used up at a time, and the wormholes appeared to pile it up endlessly, with no means of disposing the pre-existing stuff. Eventually the growing mass outside would become dangerously high (or blot out his view of the landscape), so either it had to be removed by some means they had not seen yet, or the city itself was raised up accordingly. _This world must be like an onion, with layers upon layers. Who knows what the_ _center's_ _like!_

Navigating through the deeper slums of Sakaar was hazardous at night (or any time probably), given how many people still kept attacking them. While Bruce was capable of putting up a decent fight (she had seen to that), they dared not risk him getting hurt. For herself, she needed to keep an eye on Scrapper 142 (and a thumb on the switch for the Obedience Disc), as well as watch their backs at the same time. Ergo, it was left to the super-powerful alien to handle anyone too dumb to get the message to give them a wide berth. Not that the violence bothered the other woman. She quite enjoyed doling out thorough beatings, despite them being at Natasha's command and benefit.

Everyone else in the slums was staying hidden, even if Black Widow could still hear them. Scuffling sounds, raspy breaths, the odd whimper.

"This place isn't healthy," warned Bruce, who like the two ladies was also now bareheaded. "Not just all the trash; I bet a lot of harmful byproducts from engines and such will be leaking down here. I saw some of that in Pakistan, India, and other places. We should be okay for a night or two, but no longer."

She nodded without surprise. Another reason that authorities stayed away from places like this was because it was so unhealthy. Most of those who did live here (and only because they don't have much of a choice) were poisoned by the environment. She could only hope that alien junk was not more toxic than Bruce assumed.

As exotic and enchanting as this part of the planet was though, the fact remained they still needed somewhere to sleep. Of course, they would also have to keep watch, against both their new neighbours, and Scrapper 142. So she would pull sentry duty for eight hours, and then Bruce could do it afterwards for three, while she caught up on some of her rest.

Truthfully, the KGB had trained her to go at peak performance for a week straight without sleep. However, she had already gone a few days like that dealing with Ultron, and had taken her share of bumps, bruises, and scrapes along the way. More importantly, 'peak performance' did not include having the necessary imagination and initiative (hardly valued by her trainers and handlers) to handle this surreal crisis, nor to maintain basic social skills. Living on adrenaline for 168 hours straight ran the risk of her shooting someone for speaking too loudly. Or quietly.

Not to mention it was overall best to rest when she could, as she had no idea when she would have the chance again.

On the other hand, Bruce needed sleep more than she did. After all, not only did he lack the same conditioning as her, he remained too tense here whenever he was insufficiently distracted. They had been going nearly non-stop ever since the party where Ultron revealed himself, and whatever rest they had gotten had been fitful at best. Plus, they really had been surviving on adrenaline ever since arriving on Sakaar. Sleep would help keep Hulk from coming out and doing anything they might all later regret.

While she had not talked about this with Bruce, she was confident they could come to some sort of shift arrangement, where he got twice as much rest. As kind-hearted as he was, he remained very pragmatic in terms of Hulk.

They were going through another intersection before Scrapper 142 suddenly halted, head tilted back as her nostrils flared, with uncharacteristic concern on her expression. Suddenly she spat out a word that, while Black Widow did not catch it, was followed by a sudden total silence from the people hidden around them, and the tension in air thickened. Fear and the threat of violence permeated the air.

"This way," growled Scrapper 142, stalking down one particular street, heedless of the Obedience Disk stuck to her throat.

"Uhm, why?" called out Bruce, right behind her, while Natasha held the rear, eyes darting back and forth. From the way Bruce's shoulders tightened, she knew he noticed how there did not seem to be anyone living down here, despite the increase in graffiti. Many of which seemed to depict some sort of beast dying.

"I'm not staying down here with something like _that_ prowling around!" hissed Scrapper 142, just loud enough to be heard. "We can take its nest to stay in if you want. Bor! What were these _idiots_ thinking not warning anybody!?"

The trio reached the end of the alleyway, with Scrapper 142 not even pausing as she wrenched the door off its hinges and barreled in—

—As the ground beneath her feet promptly collapsed underneath her. Lightning reflexes shot out her hands to grab the doorframe to keep herself from falling through, only for a flash of light to hit her square in the chest. Yelping in pain, Scrapper 142 threw herself back, trailing smoke from the shoulder.

From the corner of her eye, Black Widow noted what seemed like laser fire did not seem to have seriously injured her. _Probably more surprise than actual pain_. Still in motion, she threw herself to the side of the doorway out of the line of fire, with Bruce doing the same to her right.

"Hold!" she called out. "We'll take our friend and go!" There was no need to fight with people armed with their own advanced weaponry. Even if it was not enough to properly burn Scrapper 142 –unlike what the Grandmaster's weapons were implied to be capable of— she was willing to bet it could kill a Human and trigger a Code: Green.

Instinct made her leap away, just as something large and multi-limbed pounced down where she had been before. Like a nightmare it rose up on rear legs. Bright red eyes blazed over exposed, sharp fangs longer than her fingers. An insectoid body vaguely reminiscent of a hornet wearing armour, with multiple sharp legs, except the forelimbs looked like some cross between an arm and a tentacle. Two massive stingers were on the back of the long, prehensile exoskeleton.

Sporting a bloodthirsty grin, Scrapper 142 bounced back up. "Brood! So one of you has been hiding down here the whole time, eh? Guess we've got a whole swarm to kill."

"Not quite," rasped the bug from between its massive fangs.

With incredible speed Scrapper 142 dashed forward with a fist drawn back, only to be tripped as a forelimb cracked like a whip to trip her. Its fangs flashed down, only for the woman to grab its jaws, keeping them from closing, and kick her foe back into the wall of a house. It scrambled to its feet, pausing for a moment as if winded.

Dressed in rags, a humanoid figure leapt out from the shadows of the house, sporting a decrepit-looking rifle.

Having stayed motionless up to this point, Bruce sprang forward to wrench the gun away. Instead of fighting him over it, the person pushed him off balance and then pulled out something else that was clearly a weapon.

Blurring into action, Black Widow kicked out their legs from behind, knocking the weapon from their hand so that Bruce caught it with a deftness surprising for a 'simple' nerd. After checking the figure was disarmed, and that Bruce had their gun, she whirled and fired one laser shot at the ground in front of the insectoid alien to send up a cloud of dirt and smoke, flicked on her remote to make Scrapper 142 collapse to the ground convulsing in pain, and then trained her rifle on the frozen person now on their knees. With another brush of her thumb, she deactivated the Obedience Disk, letting the Avenger's prisoner gasp for breath. Over that, eyes having never left the larger alien, Black Widow loudly yet calmly said, "Our companion shouldn't have attacked you, so we're in the wrong. Except if you want to keep fighting I _will_ shoot your friend here. Truce?"

". . . Truce," agreed the larger alien, apparently a Brood. Its thick raspy voice from behind those massive fangs, was so utterly inhuman it made the hairs on the back of Black Widow's head stick up. _Nothing_ she had ever heard was _remotely_ like that sound; nothing she could compare it to, to even try and describe. Nonetheless, it remained hunched down as if to pounce, even if it stayed where it was.

"You're just going to leave, then?" scoffed the second one that Black Widow was aiming at. She had a clearly feminine voice. "With _her_!?" She gestured toward their prisoner. "That's the Grandmaster's favourite pet!" Evidently, the make-up had failed to truly disguise her. _Except it's also dark. So how would she know? Heightened senses? Or maybe very familiar with Scrapper for some reason?_

Groaning, the woman in question focused on the speaker, before sneering in recognition. "Well, well, well, if it isn't little Princess Elloe Kaifi. Grandmaster's been wanting to have you in the Contest for a while now. Oh, and how's the family?"

"You—!" the other woman made an aborted lunge, before re-registering the gun pointed straight at her.

Clearing his throat, Bruce mildly said, "How about we all put down our weapons, and go inside and talk about this away from our audience? Like civilized beings?"

Ignoring the palpable air of incredulity that even Black Widow was flashing him, he gave a toothless smile. "I'm going to go out on a limb here and say that none of us want to be picked up by the authorities. Your neighbours might leave you alone, but you wouldn't want to risk anybody else coming by. So we've got something in common right there."

"Brood don't talk or negotiate," gritted out Scrapper 142.

The being in question hissed. It was quite unnerving, raising the hairs of Black Widow's neck.

"This one's different!" Elloe Kaifi sharply said. " _She's_ different!"

"Would you have expected a Brood to stop when its companion was threatened?" hazarded Bruce. Seeing Scrapper 142's hesitation, he gave a decisive nod. "Well then, it seems like we've got a lot to talk about."

Seeing as how the most dangerous Avenger was currently playing 'Good Cop,' Black Widow played along and slowly lowered the barrel of her gun. A beat, and the Brood relaxed its –her?— body.

"Good," Bruce continued to smile, acting as if he were totally calm and in control.

 **-(Alien) Sun-**

This was easily one of the most surreal moments ever for either hero. Which, given their mutual histories, was really saying something.

Even worse, they were dealing with a literally alien situation. Clearly whatever the insect-like alien was, it –she?— was something that got even the sullen and apathetic Scrapper 142 riled up with a combination of almost genuine concern, mixed with an excuse to unleash some bloodlust.

They were all sitting on the floor in the main room right inside the hovel, with Kaifi and No-Name on the other side, in front of another doorway leading further in, which was directly in front of the main entrance. Beside that first door, Natasha chose a spot for herself and Bruce, where they could rest their backs up against a wall to the side that let her keep a close eye on both their 'hosts.' Scrapper 142, who was hunched down on the ground in the corner on the opposite side of her captors and by the front; allowing as much of a compromise as possible keeping her at a distance from everyone else. While his fellow Avenger seemed perfectly relaxed and calm, with no weapons in hand, Bruce knew that she was merely putting the aliens at ease—at the slightest sign of danger she would palm her taser discs and throw them. Moreover, the remote to Scrapper 142's Obedience Disc, remained in her hand.

Now that things had calmed down, they were also able to safely observe their hosts in detail.

The first person, Elloe Kaifi, was surprisingly human. Indeed, she looked just like a normal young woman in her twenties, except for the dark pink skin, and little spikes (horns?) sticking out of her chin.

Her raven hair was filthy and ragged. Bruce recognized that it had been awkwardly cut to shoulder length with a knife or something similar; possibly the crude if functional sword that she was holding in her hand?

It was more of a sharp blade tied to a metal pole, both of which were about the length of her forearm. However, Bruce had enough experience with dangerous people to recognize when someone was clearly familiar with their weapon of choice.

Eyes lit by fury, and more than a shade of desperation, and he knew that it remained very probable this would end badly. Fortunately –sort of— these negative emotions were mostly directed towards Scrapper 142. As much as he hated to admit it, the fact that Natasha was keeping the other alien woman on a short leash might earn them some brownie points.

As for the final member of this little group . . . He unfortunately had a pretty good idea why Scrapper 142 had reacted so strongly at sensing a Brood, as they did indeed appear quite monstrous. Indeed, this was honestly the most 'alien' looking extraterrestrial he had encountered so far. Everyone from Thor, Scrapper 142, to even the Chitauri, had all appeared remarkably Human.

There was nothing remotely Human about what was before them.

The Brood's appearance was as if a mad scientist had enlarged a hornet, and then experimented to see how many deadly additions could be slapped on. Forearms like whips, long razor-sharp fangs that were always visible, tail stingers (which given the theme he was seeing, he uncomfortably suspected were poisonous), wings, and the exoskeleton that definitely gave the impression of being more like armour.

Combined with how fast she had moved, he could tell how terrifying an entire swarm of them would be.

 _Especially_ given how badly the fight had seemed to be going for Scrapper 142. _Notwithstanding how she had no weapons this time, and I'm sure she's still got some injuries from before she's hiding. At the top of her game, and_ _head-on_ _, I'm sure she'd have done better._

Already he was hoping they could convince these people to let them stay for at least the night. While staying up later finding someplace to stay was an option, it was not one he was enthusiastic about. At least here, none of the group (barring Scrapper 142) wanted to go to the authorities, even if that that meant both parties had to trust each other enough not to murder anyone asleep.

 _They can't kill the Other Guy, and I don't think they're all that worried about us betraying them later either. Moving elsewhere in the morning is_ _simple enough, and it seems like stories of a Brood living peacefully won't be believed anyways. Nonetheless, Scrapper 142 is a problem since they obviously have issues with her. How do we make them trust us?_

 _Huh . . . Actually, since Nat and I know almost absolutely nothing about No-Name's species_ , he worried, _that includes how talented they are at picking up lies. For all we know, she'll be able to realize when we're telling lies, like sensing changes in our heartbeat. Or maybe our scents! Dogs supposedly can, right? Or who knows what?_

For a moment he thought he had hidden his reaction, yet Natasha still glanced at him. Wincing slightly, he mouthed, "Andrea," confident she would catch the reference to the female employee Tony relied upon to run truth and lie detector tests for new personnel like Maria Hill. JARVIS was not – _had_ not— been quite as talented at detecting lies. Or rather, he could track Human reactions to tell if they were lying, but he lacked the artificial intuition to truly understand how to dig deeper into the motives of strangers. Apparently, Andrea had been hired on after his best friend's experience with one 'Natalie Rushman.' She seemed nice enough, and he knew Tony enjoyed making cracks about Andrea tying her current boyfriend up while promising some 'fun times,' then pulling out her detector to start questioning them. To her credit, Andrea gave as good as she got from her boss, and seemed to enjoy the banter.

A twitch of her chin, and Natasha signaled she got the message. No outright lying here.

 _I wonder if the others can see it?_ he wondered, as his (new) girlfriend transformed before his eyes. The slight relaxing of her body, the lightest extra touch of warmth in her eyes. All signs of her putting the professional assassin aside to be the woman she was while not on duty.

He had worried if she would listen to him, as he knew how self-assured she was in her masks, especially after fooling a millennia-old alien like Loki, yet it appeared she agreed with him.

Or at least decided open honesty –as much as she ever showed strangers— was worth the risk.

Regrettably, it seemed that their new 'acquaintances' were indeed capable in their own right. By the way Kaifi's eyes narrowed further, she had caught the silent communication. "Before anything else," she snarled, "why do you have the Grandmaster's," she spat out an unrecognizable, alien word Bruce still got the gist of, "following you around!?"

"Scrapper," invited Natasha, holding up the remote clear for all to see. Scowling, the woman pushed aside her collar, and tilted her neck to show the Obedience Disc.

"Hah!" crowed Kaifi, now finally processing what had happened outside. Bursting out laughing, she finally putting her weapon down beside her.

Capitalizing on the good mood, he said, "I'm Bruce Banner, by the way. Call me Bruce."

"Natasha Romanoff, although I'm also called Widow. Or Black Widow." Interesting, so she was using her full title now. Guess this was a compromise of hers as part of being more open after all. "Natasha's good."

"Well, you already know my name's Elloe Kaifi, and you may call me Elloe if you wish. This is No-Name. She calls herself that since Brood don't use names to distinguish themselves."

"Oh, well," he said, "we've never heard of a Brood before though." He glanced at Scrapper 142, "So I'm guessing that you somehow smelled her," he gestured at the insectoid alien, "through all the garbage?"

"'Her'!?" scoffed Scrapper 142.

"Yes, _her_ ," Elloe sharply said. Taking a breath, she turned to Bruce. "Soldier-class Brood like her don't technically have genders, but that's how she prefers to be referred to."

Smirking patronizingly, Scrapper 142 shook her head. "Really? I admit I've never seen one this cunning before, but it doesn't change their nature. Enough of them've come to Sakaar over the years for me to recognize the scent, and every time we've got to put 'em down before too many people die."

Never taking her eyes off her target, she lectured the Avengers, "Brood are one of the deadliest beings in the universe, from a galaxy far away from here. They're fast and strong even by my standards, with an exoskeleton like armour plate, razor-sharp teeth, and tail stingers loaded with venom. Their only response to other species is to kill 'em, eat 'em, or worse, implant their eggs in them. Only the eggs don't just hatch in their hosts, oh no, that's too nice. They take over the whole body, rewriting the DNA so the person _becomes_ a whole new Brood. Even keeps the genetic material deemed most valuable. Even worse, they're spacefaring, letting 'em travel around for new places to infest and conquer."

"So they're like xenomorphs," quipped Natasha.

Scrapper 142 glanced in surprise at her captors at that. Perhaps she wondered if Earth had similar creatures.

Face becoming increasingly cold and harsh, Elloe snapped, "And if that were true, I'd already be dead! No-Name's not like the rest of them!"

"Nice try," sneered Scrapper 142. "But all Brood have a—"

"Psychic link?" interrupted the alien insect, cocking its head to show the livid scar on the side. "Even if the great Empress' mind could reach me here, I can never again be a part of the Whole."

"Why not?"

"Because I'm no longer like the others. Because to survive I had to . . . change."

While the Grandmaster's enforcer was clearly confused, Natasha started to find herself understanding. "You had to learn how to co-exist and cooperate with others down here in the slums, particularly your friend Elloe."

"Yes," No-Name acknowledged. Eyes squinting slightly in what seemed to be curiosity and maybe a touch of suspicion. "You caught on remarkably quickly."

"In our society we have a condition called sociopathy. When someone has a personality disorder manifesting itself in extreme antisocial attitudes and behavior and a lack of conscience. That's pretty much the dictionary definition of it." Shrugging, "The reason I understood, is that I've often been mistaken for a high-functioning one, who relies on others to survive. Letting them tell me what's right and wrong, and doing whatever I'm told to do, because otherwise society would try and dispose of me. So I can appreciate when I see others bucking similar stereotypes."

Unconsciously Bruce placed a hand on her shoulder. He was sad to admit at one point he had also held such suspicions about her. However she did not really care about that, aside from that display of 'trust,' might make the others friendlier.

A rattling sound came from No-Name's throat, before she relaxed and nodded her head. "I see. You have tales of your own then. Regardless, you are right. I learnt to overcome my species' engrained beliefs, and come to value . . . others. Including resisting the urge to kill all who are not Brood."

"Because if little Brood started scurrying around, the Grandmaster would've sent in the troops to burn you out," sneered Scrapper 142. "Sending what was left of you to die in the Contest."

"As well as killing off everyone else who lives here!" shot back Elloe. Reigning in her anger, she gave No-Name's back a gentle stroke. "She's learnt to _care_ about others. Besides, it's _queens_ who implant eggs, you fool! Not soldiers! And since she's arrived she's mostly only killed in self-defense."

Sniffing, Scrapper 142 said nothing else.

Aiming to break off another fight before it began, Bruce decided to change the subject. "You two probably've already figured this out, but we're new here. Just arrived."

"Stumbling down here was either very smart, or very dumb then," Elloe dryly noted, before her eyes narrowed in thought. "But yeah, no surprise, since it explains a thing or two. Like how you got a leash on the Grandmaster's pet dog without news of that getting out. She came to enslave you, and you got her first."

Bruce winced at the notion they had _enslaved_ Scrapper 142; preferring to view it as just taking her prisoner. Natasha of course had her face blank, with a touch of studied interest, which was probably genuine. She was more . . . practical that way.

"Also explains how you failed to recognize little miss celebrity over here," snidely taunted the prisoner/slave in question.

"Must you keep goading for a reaction?" drawled back Natasha. Obviously, she was getting a little tired of it, especially given how she knew the alien woman wanted to provoke the _other_ alien woman. "Let me guess, the Kaifi family, you use your second name for family names, right? Good. The Kaifi family was a prominent family, which is how you two first met, probably at one of the Grandmaster's celebrations—that's how she recognized you despite your disguise in near pitch-dark. Then one day the Grandmaster decided to kill her family. Maybe on a whim, maybe because they were too popular for his liking." Bruce caught the glimmer of vindication in the pink-skinned woman's eyes at the compliment. "Except Elloe, guessing the daughter of the family, somehow escaped, and evaded all attempts at capture. You decided against going after her too, if only because you prefer the thrill of nabbing people coming out of wormholes over hunting through the streets. Plus, the bounty wasn't large enough to pay for all the drinks you'd have to buy while searching everywhere. That about sums it up?"

No-Name made a noise that made Bruce think she was amused. "Pretty much." In contrast, Scrapper 142's scowl deepened at the verbal slap, yet blissfully fell silent.

"We're trying to get home," Bruce went on. "Right now, though, we're just looking for somewhere to rest for the night. Is it alright if we stay here, or is there someplace nearby?" It was a gamble of course, as these were not the first fugitives he had come across while on the run; too many people trying to hide in the same place. Fortunately, he had gotten a good sense of when those he had bumped into wanted to be left alone, or when they wanted no witnesses, and learned to know when to make himself scarce. Of course, he was dealing with aliens right now, who were targets of a government who wanted to enslave them for means of entertainment, and had little reason to believe he and Natasha would not sell them out if caught themselves. Fortunately for their position, by capturing Scrapper 142 as they had, it was likely the Grandmaster would be displeased with the Avengers in turn, if and when he found out. After a crime like that, even selling out others was unlikely to save their skins. Moreover, given how they had some sort of co-existence with others in the neighbouring streets –threatening graffiti aside— it implied the two aliens were able and willing to make deals with others.

So yes, he had a good feeling Elloe and No-Name would not try and kill him and Nat in their sleep.

Besides, he really wanted to get some shut-eye, and figured none of the other locals here would cause trouble for anyone living with the implicit protection of someone as fierce as No-Name.

"I'm sure we can work out some sort of bargain," he added on. "Like getting you stuff from the markets above since we're not wanted criminals."

"Yet," snarked Elloe, even if she were clearly considering the offer. Moreover, as a man who had been far too lonely on the run himself, he knew fellow unwilling hermits when he saw them. Her friendship with No-Name –which must be a story in itself— probably meant that the others living here in the slums, the other unwanted people on a literal world of trash, avoided the two of them. When was the last time they had a genuine conversation with anyone else?

They might have someplace to stay after all.

 **-(Alien) Sun-**

It was times like this which reminded Natasha that a little empathy and kindness could go a long way. Her own childhood, followed by years of being a spy and assassin, worming her way into people's good graces so she could betray them, had left her rather cynical about people being friendly to her in turn. Fortunately, S.H.I.E.L.D. and then the Avengers had shown her there genuinely were those who would help others, without feeling some sort of entitlement and expecting something in return. People she wanted to resemble more herself.

Right now though, No-Name and Elloe appeared sadly grateful for some sort of new and accepting companionship. Not to the point they would endanger themselves for those who are strangers, of course. Moreover, Natasha did not feel like risking their lives like that anyways. These two had enough on their plate.

 _Although, we could offer them a better life back home on Earth. Even if Hulk, and thus Bruce, may be a wanted fugitive after Johannesburg, we can work something out with Steve, Stark, and the others. Well . . . mostly Stark, since we'd need his money and such to hide what is essentially a giant beetle-Xenomorph from the public. Like at that new compound he's been building for us? Oh, and either a big plane_ _,_ _or a comfortable truck to get her there._

 _That_ line of thought sent her mind off in a new and conflicted direction, even if she was confident she kept it hidden from the others. People only saw the expressions and moods she wanted them to, with Bruce, Laura, and Clint being the exceptions. Even then she suspected it was because she subconsciously wanted them to be able to read her; wanted to know she felt safe being a little bit vulnerable around them.

Here and now, she found herself actually relaxing a bit with these two aliens. Which was a nice surprise, as she really did not want to find herself stuck in assassin mode. Or Black Widow mode, as it seemed to be when she was around Bruce.

(She still kept her thumb on the trigger for Scrapper 142. She was not stupid.)

(For the same reason, nor was she going to risk an outright lie in case she got caught on it.)

"It's not going to work, y'know."

Everyone glanced at Scrapper 142 who was knowingly eying Natasha. "I beg your pardon?"

"Whatever you're planning. I've seen people like you come here before. Maybe you really do care about the freak and the outcast instead of wanting them as patsies, except it'll not make a difference. Time and time again bright-eyed idealists come to Sakaar and think they can change things, only to be broken."

Glancing at Elloe, she cheerily continued, "Remember that Nova Corps captain from a few years ago? When I nabbed him, he went on about how he would never live as a slave and how he would overthrow the system. That he would never kill someone for sport in the arena. Care to guess how long that lasted in the Contest of Champions? Remember how he was in the end? I think he was crying when he saw all that blood on his hands. And—what?"

Seeing the irritation on her prisoner's face, Natasha widened her smile even farther, showing off all her pearly whites.

(All her original teeth even, despite how many fights and torture sessions she had endured. That was how good she was.)

(Unfortunately, she _had_ needed some dental work given her less than stellar living conditions growing up in the Soviet Union.)

"Whatever innocence I've had died long ago. I've got red gushing out of my ledger, and I've been broken before, and I've broken others as well. Trust me, I'm not the idealist you think I am."

Before she could damage what progress they had made with Elloe and No-Name, she continued with, "I'm doing much better now though, and want to protect genuine idealists like Bruce. Besides," she cooed icily, "you know what happens to people who get past me."

"Yeah, your boy toy's got a real monster inside of him," allowed the other woman, with a touch of appreciation and a flicker of remembered pain.

"What?" hissed No-Name in surprise.

"Oh yeah. Turns into a bigger, greener, version of himself."

Seeing the confusion, Bruce sighed and briefly elaborated. "A failed experiment, which was all my fault, left me with a dual personality. Direct threats to me bring him out, and he's . . . strong. Worse, he's got a temper. I thought we had an understanding and could make it work . . . and then it didn't. It's one of the reasons we've got to get off this planet so he doesn't hurt anybody else."

"As in someone like Scrapper 142," realized Elloe as she finally understood the bruises on the woman's face. "I thought she'd just gotten so wasted you got the drop on her!"

Irritated, the slaver tried another tact. "If you're so tough, why bother trying to leave? The strong live it up pretty slick here. You can make a new life for yourselves on Sakaar. Yeah, it can suck at times, but it's got it's good stuff too." _Alcohol_ went unsaid. "I mean really, what's back home there that's worth risking your lives over?"

Natasha nearly hesitated at this before mastering herself. Honestly, neither she nor Bruce had even stopped to think about _staying_ here. The Barton family was back on Earth waiting for her, and as broken as dysfunctional as they were, so were the Avengers. Clint's wife and kids may not mean as much to Bruce, yet she knew that the rest of them –particularly Tony— did, despite how much he had wanted to run away earlier today. Because as much as they still resembled a time bomb, the Avengers were still also for him the closest thing he had to a family. Or at the very least, even though he was planning to run away and disappear again –on Earth— he would know he had close friends he could stop by to visit whenever he got too lonely. Besides, this current planet they were on brought Hulk too close to the surface for anyone's comfort.

While she may appreciate the Hulk more than most, Natasha was not blind to the fact he was a raging berserker at times, and one who had killed in the past. Worst of all, she had not missed his reluctance to let Bruce regain control of the 'steering wheel.' If they remained on this alien world that left her boyfriend so on edge, there was no guarantee the Lullaby would work next time to bring him back.

Furthermore, while they were hardly, pampered, American snobs, living in a world of _trash_ remained decidedly unappealing to them.

They had standards.

(Standards which had been further raised by living with a billionaire who insisted on buying expensive things to prove he cared.)

So she turned it around. "Who're you trying to convince here?" she silkily asked, noting the confusion followed by defensive anger in the other woman as she figured it out. "Honestly, why would we want to live here when the most we have to offer in currency is pretty much violence and our own bodies? Hard pass. Sorry, we've got people back home that care about us."

Now _that_ got a reaction, and Natasha knew to drop the subject as Scrapper 142 flinched and her fingers fisted. Obviously, she was digging at a gaping emotional wound that was being ignored as much as possible. Being sober was likely not helping.

"So, let me guess," Elloe said, her face a blank mask now too, clearly trying to hide how she felt. "You're gonna offer us a trip back to your world, and asylum, if we help you? What level of spacefaring are you at anyways?"

"Uhm, hardly at all honestly."

"Then it won't work out," No-Name rasped, sounding genuinely regretful. "No offense, but from how you're dressed, and what you're carrying as new arrivals, your world looks too primitive for us, especially since that makes it unlikely you've got many members of other species back home anyways. How used are your people to aliens? Could you even guarantee we'd be protected there?"

Wincing, Bruce sighed and shook his head, and she silently had to agree. Never mind the lack of official authority for the Avengers, or even official recognition, after how the Hulk tore up Johannesburg, he would be lucky if every international peacekeeping organization was not actively hunting him. Granted, both of them would still prefer that over being stuck here. "No, we can't," he sadly confirmed.

"You also don't really have a plan to pull it off anyways," Elloe shrewdly said. "Otherwise you wouldn't be down here trying to trade for asylum. Sorry, you don't have nothing to offer for us to risk it for something that big."

"Can we at least stay here for a while then?" asked Natasha. That, at least, she was sure they could manage.

Sure enough, No-Name and Elloe glanced at each other in unspoken communication, before turning and nodding together. "We can work something out," agreed Elloe. "So long as you earn your keep, you're welcome to stay here as long as you need."

"Thank you!" Bruce sincerely said. "Got to tell you, that's a big weight off my mind. It'll be nice to take a moment to relax."

Unfortunately, he had overlooked one little detail.

"What're you so chipper for?" sneered Scrapper 142. "All of this talk, talk, talk just makes me want to get plastered all the more. You're not any better off than you were before." Offering a smile laced with sweet venom, she continued, "The Grandmaster's been making Sakaar dance to his tune for _millions_ of years. What makes you so sure you'll succeed where everyone else has failed?"

Of course, neither Avenger had any answer for that.

 **-(Alien) Sun-**

The silence was broken by a frantic hammering at the door. "It's me," trilled a new voice. "It's me! Let me in!"

Elloe seemed to snort at a hidden joke, before calling out, "Remember to watch the first step!"

A cloaked figure carefully opened the door and hopped over the pitfall trap, before turning to Bruce and Natasha. "Excuse me, can I touch you?"

"No," Natasha automatically said.

"Alright then, uhm, who is Darth Vader the father of?"

"Luke and Leia," a stunned Natasha managed automatically.

"You're from Earth!" breathed out Bruce.

"Wait!" snapped Natasha. "How'd you find us?"

"Oh, I've been scanning for Earth tech and transmissions for years. I picked up the signals from your gear, and surprise, surprise after following you all around the capital I end up back here with my neighbours!" The hood hiding their face shifted, "Huh, I don't know about you," she gestured at Natasha, then Bruce, "but you _are_ dressed like an Earthling. Awesome!"

"Wait, they're from that planet!?" gasped Elloe, standing up suddenly. Whirling to No-Name, her face broke out into a grin. "Maybe this can work out after all!"

"Yes," nodded No-Name. "Getting there may still be impossible, but upon arrival, we may indeed have favourable options. Although . . ." She craned her head to look at the new arrival. "We have to be sure it'll be safe."

"Oh, right. Do either of you know a group called S.H.I.E.L.D.?"

"I'm a former member," Natasha cautiously allowed. "I'm working with another group now though."

There was hesitation on the newcomer's part. "Did you leave on good terms?"

"It was complicated. Although the former Director approved of it."

"I see." Seeming to steel themselves, they threw back the hood to show their face.

It was Nick Fury.

Some twenty to thirty years younger.

Black Widow's handgun shot up to point at the impossible face, even as she tried to keep her awareness on Scrapper 142 so the super-alien wouldn't jump them. Despite herself, she felt a frown on her face that for anyone else would be a full-faced snarl at the—what _did_ she feel? Insulted? Betrayed? Definitely threatened.

"How, how do you have Nick Fury's face?" managed Bruce, equally stunned.

"You recognize him, good, good," smiled 'Fury.' "But first, friend or foe?"

"Uhm, mentor and friend for Nat, and, I guess, acquaintance for me. Sorta. Kinda of a boss at times too. Our relationship was complicated. Tried to be friends at least."

 _The man who approved Clint's decision not to kill me. Risked taking me in. Who stood up for me by authorizing me to be a member of S.H.I.E.L.D.,_ _and_ _giving me a second chance. Trusting me with his most important missions._ _S_ _ponsoring me to be an Avenger, as well having faith in me to help vet Stark and the rest. All that and more._

Holding up his hands in placation, 'Fury' continued to smile, _both_ eyes beaming. "This may get a bit freaky, so sit tight." His face impossibly shifted, like it was being torn apart and put together again differently, showing the skin and bone underneath, before settling into a bald, pointy-eared, green woman's face. "Fury's a friend of me and my family."

Seeing their confusion, she became hesitant. "He never told you about the Skrulls?" she asked nervously. "Alien shapeshifters? Kree invasion in the 1990s?"

"What," was Black Widow's cold, iron reply.

 **-(Alien) Sun-**

Back on Earth, Nicholas J. Fury felt an inexplicable shiver go up his spine, and resisted the unusual urge to rub his eyepatch.

 **-(Alien) Sun-**

After a long moment, Natasha holstered her gun, and sat back, still keeping a half eye on Scrapper 142, who now seemed distracted enough from her addiction. "No, no he did not tell us. Which is a shame since I would've expected, given how I thought I was one of the people he trusted most, that he would have told us about something like that."

She had her emotions back under control now, even though she projected clear skepticism. She suspected it was a forlorn hope though, as experience had also made her resigned to the fact the man would always hoard secrets to his dying breath.

"I'm Bruce Banner, and this is Natasha Romanoff," offered Bruce. "So you're able to shapeshift?"

"All Skrulls can, idiot," groused Scrapper 142, her curiosity at this newest twist still occupying her attention. "The Grandmaster's got a special bounty for them."

"And I have no interest in sating his perverted tastes," hissed the reptilian alien upon recognition. She threw Elloe and No-Name a concerned look, yet the pink-skinned woman made a gesture which reassured her. "Anyways, yes, all Skrulls can. To varying degrees. Most civilizations can't detect us, including the Kree, except the Grandmaster's somehow got the tech. I had to come down here to hide after my ship and I got sucked up by one of his roaming wormholes, and I met these two. My powers helped me learn that No-Name was actually different, so we ended up befriending each other. I live only a single house down from here. Well, if you can call that hole a house."

Her explanation was met with several blank stares, as even her neighbours were confused as to where she was going with all this.

"Oh, sorry, my name is Lyja. We don't have surnames like you do on Earth, since historically we've always shown family status by scent. Although, I guess you could call me Lyja Talosdaughter?"

"You were saying something about an alien invasion," prompted Natasha. "One we'd never heard of before."

"Ah, yes. Well, my people, the Skrulls, had been fighting a losing war against the Kree ever since they destroyed our homeworld for not submitting to them. A defector of theirs made contact with us, named Mar-Vell. Although, she tended to prefer Dr. Lawson, which was her cover as an Earth scientist. Her superiors thought she was using Earthling infrastructure and resources to develop some secret and dangerous projects. In reality, she was helping me and other refugees find a new home away from the war. Including hiding us on her cloaked cruiser. I don't really remember her, because I was a baby when the Kree found and murdered her, but she left behind a lot of Earth toys, books, movies, and other tech behind, and the adults loved her.

"Anyways, my father, Talos, finally found us, along with the help of Agent Nick Fury of S.H.I.E.L.D., Maria Rambeau, her daughter Monica, and Carol Danvers. Carol was a Human that—" she hesitated before continuing, "—That the Kree had abducted, and gave super-powers to. When she got her memories back, she turned on them, and helped blow up their ships. She gave Fury a communicator before leaving with us to find a new world to call home. Oh, and there was a Flerken named Goose who helped a bunch too."

While Bruce blinked, Black Widow remained impassive as they absorbed all of this history. Neither of them had any knowledge of these events, which both considered deeply concerning. Bruce quickly realized that since none of this had been in the S.H.I.E.L.D. data dump Natasha and Steve Rogers had done, it meant that there could be many more secrets left to be uncovered. He was feeling increasingly sympathetic for Steve's anger towards the reveal of how Tony and himself had been keeping the others in the dark about experimenting on Loki's Scepter.

This new information also begged the question: why had Fury never contacted the Skrulls for help if he supposedly trusted them so much?

 _Although if they were refugees, there might not've been much they could've done. That may even also explain the lack of records; Fury didn't want to leave any hints lying around that the Kree, apparently an advanced, spacefaring race, could hack out of our computer systems._

His partner, however, was fixated on the fact that aliens had been infiltrating Earth to run experiments. _How many more like that are there? How much does Fury know about that?_

Nevertheless, she instantly understood that whatever secrets Fury was holding onto, they were ones he believed too dangerous to trust _anyone_ else with. She had not missed how Lyja had been about to say something else about Carol Danvers –something important about a woman she had never heard of— before remembering to skip over it. There was also a growing bitterness as she wondered why Fury had never seen reason to trust the Avengers with this. With _her_. After everything they had done to prove themselves! Especially given how close some of their 'victories' had been, when every little edge, even an alien ray gun or two, would have made the difference. What kind of games was that man playing at—she ruthlessly suppressed those lines of thought. She needed to be strong. _Bruce_ needed her to be strong. Especially since she had just registered something.

"You said Fury would have a way to contact your people?" repeated Black Widow.

There was a definite flicker of mirth mixed with disappointment in Lyja's eyes, presumably at how they had not asked about 'Flerkens,' yet Natasha did not take the bait. It was best to remain in control as much as possible for this conversation; and really, what more did she need to know than that there had been _three_ alien species involved?

"Yes," she still answered. "Carol left Fury with a communicator that would reach her in emergencies, even when several galaxies away."

What.

Just. What?

"That's why No-Name and I are more interested now," admitted Elloe. "Going through any old portal's not worth the risk, because even if we end up someplace safe, it could be anywhere in the universe and no better off, since Skrulls and Brood aren't really liked by other spacefaring races. Getting to Earth is the best plan we've come up with, since if her family friends are still alive and trustworthy, they can protect us while calling for Captain Marvel and Skrulls to get a ride someplace safe. Only thing is, Lyja never learnt enough to find it on a nav computer. Do you think you know enough to help narrow down what galaxy you're from?"

Smiling, Bruce gave a nod as he started to catch on. Natasha was wondering if there was any significance to Danvers being mentioned before the Skrulls. She was also happy to see the start to a more feasible plan to get home than Scrapper 142's 'go through a random wormhole and hope for the best.'

"Perfect," Elloe brightened. "So if we can get to Earth, No-Name, Lyja and I can stay with Fury. Or you guys. Since he's your friend, he can take care of the rest. Now, as for actually getting off-planet, unlike every other attempt, this should be feasible because you've got Scrapper 142! Who better to know about all the security and layout to the palace, including the spaceport?"

The woman in question was rather sullen looking at that. Unfortunately, with the Obedience Disc on, and people's general attitude towards her, she considered it better to remain meek and quiet. For now.

"We just need proof first," rasped No-Name.

"Proof?"

Wincing, Lyja held out her hand. "One of the reasons my people make such good infiltrators is that we can copy not only appearances, but _only_ short-term memories. Only if we've touched them, though."

"Really!?" gasped Bruce. "That's, how d'you, what, really!?"

"Yes."

"Are there any side effect?" bit out Natasha. "And how much do you learn?"

"When was the last time you saw him?" hedged Lyja.

"Less than a day."

"Then that's all I'll look for."

Softly, yet letting the hint of cold steel be heard, Natasha said, "If I ever find out you've gone further, we'll both regret me showing you this trust."

Seeing something in her eyes, Lyja gulped and nodded. Cautiously, she extended her fingers to brush against Natasha's own, and darted back a second later, jumping up and down with glee. "It's true! It's true! I saw Fury! Oh wow, and he's bald now too! Still looks as awesome as I remember though!"

A crackling noise erupted from No-Name's throat, while Elloe pumped her fist. "Sweet! I can't wait to meet them all after all the stories you've told!"

All these oblique references made a very strong part of Black Widow want to find out a way to reach the Skrulls and Danvers _before_ going back to Earth, if only to get the full picture to help her in her subsequent grilling of her ex-boss and friend. Who knows what else he was—

She stopped to follow her next leap of logic, and put on a consoling face. "That's when he lost his eye, isn't it?"

Lyja nodded sadly. "Yeah. Goose clawed it out of him. Fury forgave him though."

Bruce's jaw dropped, and he was visibly fighting the urge to start pressing for details himself.

For herself, Natasha decided that it was best to put this on hold and come back to this later. It was probably best not to pressure Lyja too much . . . especially since she might disgracefully succumb to her growing urge to shake the alien woman until she coughed up every drop of information.

 _Like, what kind of name for a person is Goose!?_

Although . . . Fury had always been explicit that he had lost his eye to someone he trusted . . .

 _Hmm, I wonder if the betting pool on how he lost his eye is still open? Bruce and I could probably retire off the winnings from that alone._

 _Still, now that we've got a shapeshifter seemingly eager to work with us, now things are starting to look up in our favour._

 **~~To Be Continued…~~**

 **Author Notes:**

 **Was pointed out to me that Bruce and Natasha would know that Earth had survived, just not the fates of their friends. Changes incorporated into chapter 3 now.**

 **.**

 **I know that in the comics Elloe does not have spikes/horns on her chin; only the males of her species do. I made that little change to help differentiate her from the pink-skinned ladies we see in Guardians of the Galaxy 1, based upon the males from the film** ** _Planet Hulk_** **.**

 **.**

 **To quote one of the original comics with the Brood,** **"** **The Uncanny X-Men! #162: Beyond the Farthest Star" by Chris Claremont:**

 **"** **The Sleazoids –the** ** _Brood_** **— are fast an' strong, as agile on the ground as in the air. Their skin is virtual armor plate, their teeth are razor-sharp, an' their tail stingers are loaded with venom. Kill' comes natural to 'em, an' they've refined it to an art. No deadlier beings exist in the universe… 'cept maybe** ** _me_** **."**

 **–** **Wolverine**

 **.**

 **'** **Andrea' is an OC I doubt I will use again. I do like the idea from fics of Tony having other valued employees though.**

 **.**

 **Thanks to** **MetalOx137 for helping me with Natasha's reflections on Fury.**

 **.**

 **Originally I was going to have the Skrull be Lyja the spy, whom comic fans may remember as a Skrull agent who was meant to infiltrate the Fantastic Four by replacing the girlfriend of Ben Grim, the Thing. Instead she ended up falling in love with Johnny Storm, the Torch, and marrying him. Suffice to say their relationship got awkward after she was outed.**

 **Originally I was planning a whole backstory based on that, except for a different world than Earth. Now though, here she is as the now older, previously unnamed daughter of the lead Skrull in** ** _Captain Marvel_** **, Talos.**

 **.**

 **Lyja is keeping quiet about how Carol got her powers because she remembered from what she has been told that the details of the Tesseract are rather secret. Also, she does not know why Fury kept Natasha and Bruce in the dark about the Skrulls, and what else he may be covering up. Her loyalty, and protection, is to Carol and Fury first over even her new friends.**

 **.**

 **There is a reference in the comics for the MCU about Skrull Detectors, but given the difficulties the Kree faced, I am just going to label those as cons for the gullible. They do not really work. Except for the Grandmaster's.**

 **~)~)~)~**

 **Next Chapter: 'Brainstorm'**

 **~(~(~(~**

 **Recommended fics:**

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 **"** **Civil Outcome," by**

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 **"** **To Hug a Hulk," by Morena Evensong**

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 **"** **the identity crisis of one nicholas j. fury," by sevenfoxes (AO3)**

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 **"** **The Search for Victory," by Morena Evensong**

 **"Avengers of the Ring," by Dr Matthattan**

 **"Return of the Avengers," by Dr Matthattan**

 **"Scarlet Witch and the Thirteen Dwarves," by Dr Matthattan**

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 **~)~)~)~**

 **Please Review, and I will get back to you!**


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